


A Piercing Little Star

by Defira



Category: Dragon Age
Genre: Angst, Avvar, Bisexual Female Character, Bisexual Female Character of Color, Character of Faith, Childhood Friends, F/F, Female Relationships, Forbidden Love, Grey Wardens, Lost Love, Mage Origin, Mage Rebellion, Magic, Religion, Religious Conflict, Revolution, Rival Relationship, Spies & Secret Agents, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-11
Updated: 2013-02-13
Packaged: 2017-11-28 22:58:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 15
Words: 43,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/679823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Defira/pseuds/Defira
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the Dragon Age Big Band: Round Two. Art by epsifawnshawn.</p><p>The world is at war. The Circles have declared their independence, the Templars have rebelled from the Chantry and Orlais- the most powerful nation in Thedas- is teetering on the brink of civil war. The interrogation of Varric Tethras has proved interesting, but with no concrete leads on the location of Marian Hawke, Cassandra Penteghast and Leliana agree to part ways- Cassandra will seek out Marian, and Leliana will pursue Solona Amell, Hero of Ferelden. </p><p>Her journey takes her back to where it all began, back to Ferelden, and rumours of a dark sorceress in the mountains preying on travellers lead her deep into the Frostbacks. There she finds not Solona, but her younger cousin Bethany, a woman from Leliana's past. Bethany has been a Grey Warden for the better part of a decade, and the brutal work has dimmed the light in the sunny young girl she once knew. </p><p>They stand on opposite sides of a conflict engulfing the world, both determined to see their faction led to victory. But a heart is a fragile thing, and sometimes it will not listen to reason- even when the fate of all is at stake.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Bethany

**Author's Note:**

>   
>  Art by Epsifawnshawn

**9:41 Early Winter**

_The west was getting out of gold,  
The breath of air had died of cold,_

She had accepted the fact that she would die in the Deep Roads. She didn’t _want_ to, but she’d had over nine years now to grow accustomed to the idea. It was entrenched in the culture of the wardens, after all. Honour, duty, and death in the darkness.

She was just really hoping she could have gotten the full thirty years out of the deal, instead of a measly decade.

Bethany Hawke wasn’t afraid of the darkness anymore, or the crushing weight of stone above her. You had to adapt, had to move on quickly, or you’d be swept away by the terror, gibbering in panic when the monsters swarmed towards you. She’d seen others die that way, and she’d sworn she wouldn’t go the same.

The memories of their screams strengthened her resolve when she faltered.

But all the resolve in the world couldn’t save her now, because they’d been three weeks underground with no sign of a way out. A cave-in eleven days ago had trapped them in a narrow side tunnel, when the main passage had collapsed. Ivar and Bernard had died then, crushed beneath a thousand tonnes of rock. They hadn’t had time to mourn, of course, and for Ivar it was a good end- the dwarf had gone back to the Stone, and for a surfacer outcast, there could be no greater honour.

That’s what she told herself anyway, to placate her conscience and avoid crumpling into hysterical tears. She was Senior Warden, a Captain, and she didn’t have the luxury of tears.

She was going to die down here, she could feel it. They were unbearably lost, in ancient tunnels so deep within the earth that even the deepstalkers did not dare to tread there. The dust of ages gone lined the floor, and most of the time they traversed natural caves, rather than dwarven roads. Where possible they had taken paths that had slanted upwards, hoping to reach the surface; it was almost pathetic to hope, though, since by now they were likely deep beneath the Frostback Mountains. The surface was miles away; Orzammar was miles away. They found enough pools of still, slimy water to sustain them, and scavenged what food they could, even if it meant gagging on stringy, hairy roots they’d tugged from the cave wall. 

They were lost, and they were all going to die.

Aradan, his arm under Samuel’s to help support some of his weight, eased the other Warden onto the ground, and then slumped down beside him. She could hear Samuel’s shallow panting from the other side of the tunnel, and she knew the fever was getting worse. Her healing magic was never more than mediocre, and she’d done all she could for him. She’d learned a few tricks from Anders all those years ago, during those few bright shining weeks in Kirkwall when she’d begun to hope they had a future, and she’d picked up some basic field surgery in the years since while she’d served as a Warden, but she was never going to excel at it. Keeping Samuel alive in the days since a wound on his leg had become infected was burning through her energy fast, much faster than she would have liked, and she almost couldn’t tell which of them was going to deteriorate beyond recovery first.

If it was her, the two men faced a long, slow death in the darkness.

Setting her pack down, her head swam from exhaustion, and she put a hand on the wall of the cave for balance. In her other hand, she kept aloft a small magical flame, their only light for days now. Her arm was aching from holding it up, and as she slid to the floor wearily she propped it up on the pack.

“Sam’s out of water again,” Aradan said tiredly, his voice hoarse and miserable. It was clear he’d been rationing his rather frugally as well.

Bethany tugged the waterskin for her bag and tried to toss it across to them. At her reduced strength, it only made it as far as her knee. She tried to shove it further with her foot. “Take some of mine,” she rasped. “If we don’t find another pool tomorrow, I can try and-”

“You’re too exhausted to try magic again,” he said. Even his ears seemed droopy and exhausted, and his face was drawn and tight. They’d all lost weight in the last few days. “It’s not worth it.”

“I hold rank,” she said. “I get to decide what’s worth it and what isn’t. Take the bloody water.”

Aradan was silent for a long moment before he reached over, shuffling forward on his knees to take the waterskin. “If we run into darkspawn again, we’re done for.”

“I know,” she said wearily.

He hesitated for a moment, before saying “If it comes down to it, you’re a better asset to the Wardens than-”

“Shut up, Dan,” she snapped. 

“He’s unconscious again, he doesn’t care.”

“I said _shut up_.”

They lapsed into silence, and Bethany thought for a time that she might have drifted out of focus for a while. It wasn’t quite sleeping, because she was too paranoid to sleep, so she sort of just lay there, staring at the far wall and listening to Samuel’s raspy breathing grow more and more pained.

The smart thing to do would be to put him out of his misery, give him a quiet death in his sleep. It would conserve their rations, conserve their strength not to have to drag him about and keep trying to heal him… he was nothing but a liability at the moment. Warden practicality and survival instincts screamed at her to sacrifice him for the greater good.

She listened to his pained breathing in the dark and did nothing.

It was all so stupid, she thought bitterly. To have lost two, possibly three wardens, in the pursuit of such a wretched goal, when Solona said she had destroyed-

The light in her palm flickered slightly, startling her to wakefulness.

“Save your strength, Bethany,” Aradan called wearily. “We’ve no use for a light right now.”

She sat up quickly, staring at the lick of flame. It flickered again. “It’s not me,” she said dazedly, scrambling awkwardly to her feet and looking around. She spun in a dizzy circle, arm extended, staring at the magical flame as she did so. Waiting for the tell-tale wobble in the light.

Behind her, she heard Aradan sit up; he must have disturbed Samuel slightly, for the injured warden murmured uncomfortably in his sleep. Aradan hushed him absently. “A way out?” he asked, unable to hide the desperation in his voice.

She didn’t answer, scrambling over the uneven floor and following the flame as it flickered and danced. Hold arm out slightly to the left- the flame wiggled. Hold arm out a little more to the left- the flame jumped violently, shadows dancing and skittering over the walls of the cavern. “I think there’s something over-” She slipped on loose stones, slamming down hard on her knee; she felt the fabric over her elbow rip and the skin split. She didn’t drop the light though. She bit into her lip and ignored the pain and found the strength to lurch upright again.

“It’s over here,” she said, excitement and desperation seething through her veins. Maker, the thought of freedom, the thought of escaping this wretched tomb; her nightmares of empty, echoing tunnels were nearly as bad as the warden dreams now. “There’s a breeze coming from somewhere.”

The stones crunched as Aradan hurried up behind her; she glanced at him, noting the lines around his mouth that hadn’t been there when they’d come into the Deep all those weeks ago on this foolhardy quest. “It might just be coming up from the depths,” he said, trying to sound reasonable, but the hope in his voice was unmistakable.

“I don’t think it is,” she said, steadying herself as she clambered over the remains of an ancient cave in. The little light bounced off the walls, casting frightening shadows that danced and seethed maniacally. “I think there’s-”

Darkness suddenly yawned in front of her, and Aradan grabbed the back of her tunic so that she didn’t go sliding down. She staggered a little before finding her balance, then with a shaking hand held the light aloft, pushing everything she had into making it burn brighter, reach further. The light slowly illuminated the cave in, the rubble worn and settled after centuries at rest, and clearly showed the gap in the ceiling, a decent sized hole that led upwards towards-

“Snow,” she whispered,” I can smell snow.”

It was the smell of the mountains, the smell of thin, fresh air, not the stale empty nothing of the Deep Roads. She had grown so used to the ancient, dusty smell of the tunnels, and there was no mistaking the living, breathing smell of the world above them, wending down through the earth to where they stood and stared upwards. It stung her nose a little, the sharp, crisp hint of snow and winter, not so much a smell as a sensation. But if you knew what it was, it was unmistakable.

A momentous silence fell between them, and Aradan was the first to break it. “It might still be miles away,” he whispered.

She shook her head. “It wouldn’t smell that strong if it was. We’ve been climbing slowly up for the last eleven days; we had to find the surface eventually.”

“But we’ve seen none of the Roads,” he said, referring to the Dwarven paths between the forgotten cities. “Surely if we were closer, we would have found them.”

“The dwarves cannot have uncovered every path in the deep” she said, shaking her hand to dispel the little flame. It splattered to the floor, much like drops of water, and the tunnel was plunged into darkness.

It took a moment for her eyes to adjust, straining in the immense darkness for detail, for some point of reference; her inner ear went mad, and she had to put both hands on the tunnel wall so that she didn’t lose her sense of balance entirely and go toppling over. When she felt she’d given her eyes enough time to settle, she turned her head up and stared up through the gap.

It was dark, so very dark, but not so dark that she couldn’t make out the tiny hint of something not quite as dark, something that looked very much like it might be night sky.

“Oh, blessed Maker,” she breathed, immense, hysterical hope filling her. “Aradan, I think I can see the way out.” She fumbled through the darkness for him, finding his sleeve as she groped and dragging him up beside her. “Look, there.”

She heard his breath hitch. “Praise be to Mythal,” he whispered. He let out a slow, shaky breath. “Sam can’t make that climb-”

“He’s going to have to,” she said, summoning the flame back to her hand. They both winced at the light, blinking the spots away from their vision. “I’ll go at the front, you go at the back. We can keep Samuel between us; I’ll make handholds and find the best places to climb, and you can stop him from falling. It can’t be that far.”

“We can’t fit our packs up there,” he pointed out.

“Then we’ll have to leave them,” Bethany said, just as pointedly.

In the weak light of the flame, Aradan looked torn. “Beth, as badly as I want to get out, it’s just not practical to leave our packs. If we’re this close to the surface that we can see it, maybe it’d be better if we-”

He froze mid-sentence, and she knew he felt it too. It was like a hook lodged deep in her belly, tugging gently, just enough to irritate. There was a whisper in her ears, a faint susurration as if a phantom were trying to speak softly as it drifted past. A hint of nausea, and the tugging grew stronger.

“South east,” she said, scrambling down from the rocks and heading over to where Samuel lay in a feverish sleep. “I count four.”

“I count five,” Aradan said grimly, following closely behind her. “Either way, they outnumber us.”

She knelt beside Samuel and put a hand to his forehead. He was burning up, and his eyelids fluttered at her touch. “He’s no good to us in a fight,” Bethany said, sending as much energy into him as she dared expend, hoping to burn the edge off the fever. His dark eyes snapped open, and though the feverish sheen remained on his skin, his eyes were alert. “Sam, we need to run.”

He blinked once or twice, and Aradan helped him to sit up. “’spawn?” he slurred, grabbing weakly at Aradan as he tried to stand. Bethany and Aradan shared a look over his head.

“Yeah, darkspawn,” she said, hooking her free arm under him and hurrying the process. She and Aradan all but dragged him across the tunnel, leaving their packs and the last of their supplies behind on the ground. “You need to be strong for another few minutes, because we have a way out, but you need to climb, okay?”

“Mkay,” he muttered, his head lolling dangerously against his chest. 

“Sam!” she snapped, and his eyes snapped open in response.

“Sorry, Captain,” he mumbled, trying to stand under his own steam. Bethany helped Aradan to prop him up against the wall and held the light in her hand up higher to inspect the sloped rubble they had to climb to reach the natural chimney.

From further down the tunnel echoed the familiar shrieks and squawks of the darkspawn, the sound of leathery skin and rusted armour and clawed feet scraping against the stone. They were still a distance away, but they’d clearly sensed the presence of the wardens, and were surging closer.

“Maker, why is nothing ever easy,” she muttered, looking back over her shoulder at the others. Aradan was watching in the direction of the noises, his hand on his blade, and Samuel was looking up at her with fever bright eyes. “Hurry, we don’t have much time.”

They scrambled up the scree after her, and she pointed to a ledge jutting out just below the shaft. “Grab onto that, and then from there you can get into the chimney. It might be a tight squeeze, but we’ll get out, okay?”

They nodded in agreement. More shrieks rang out in the darkness.

She took a deep breath. “Okay then,” she said, trying to ignore the exhaustion in her limbs, the trembling in her fingers that wouldn’t go away. Or was that fear? She’d sworn she wouldn’t give into fear, after all, but right now with death looming so close behind her that she could feel the cold, ancient breath on her neck, she didn’t think anyone would blame her for being afraid.

Making sure her staff was firmly strapped to her back, and hoping the bloody thing wouldn’t get caught in the climb, she nodded at the two men beside her and reached for the ledge.


	2. Bethany

The light had to go, of course. She couldn’t hold the little flame and the ledge at the same time. She shook her hand, the little drops of fire dispersing harmlessly, hissing a little in the cold air as they sizzled out of existence. Darkness fell immediately, eerie and threatening now that they could feel the oncoming threat of the darkspawn. As she groped blindly against the wall and grasped the stone ledge to pull herself up, she heard Aradan curse behind her. “Would have been nice if we’d _all_ had a chance to get up before it went dark.”

She gritted her teeth, arms already straining. “You were the one telling me not to waste my strength,” she snapped, running a hand around the inside of the shaft to find a higher grip. She found one and with a grunt of effort got her shoulders into the gap. Her staff dug into her back immediately, the twisted edges of the wood and sharp lines of the crystal pressing painfully.

“That was before there were spawn breathing down my neck,” he muttered; the sound carried perfectly in the tunnel.

Bethany held her breath as her feet scrabbled for a moment, some of the smaller stones in the rockslide coming loose as she tried to find a foothold. Then she felt broad hands groping around her ankles, and someone was pushing her up, until her feet were on the ledge just below the lip of the shaft. She craned about to look down, but it was too dark to see which of them had helped her. “Thanks,” she whispered.

“No worries, Captain,” Samuel whispered back hoarsely, his hand still on her leg. It was quite obviously shaking.

“Can we hurry, please?” Aradan said, his voice both annoyed and anxious.

She bit her lip. “Sam, are you ready? Grab that ledge to pull yourself up the first little bit, right where my foot is.”

There were scuffling sounds beneath her, and a pained grunt; the hand crawled hesitantly down her leg and towards the stone, Bethany biting back a grunt of her own at the weight he added to her already trembling arms. A moment later Samuel’s head crashed into her shin instead, sending her crashing forward into the rock face as her foot slipped from the ledge.

“Maker!” she squawked, nearly losing her grip. There was blood in her mouth, from a jagged hole in her lip, but she couldn’t exactly spit it out on the two men. “Shit, Sam, be careful!”

“Sorry Beth,” he rasped, his voice trembling. Even through her leggings, she could feel the heat coming off of him, and she knew the fever was fighting back against her meagre attempts at healing.

She tried not to sigh. “It’s okay,” she said, “just be careful. I’m going to climb a little higher now; try and find where my feet are right now and put your hands in the gaps.”

He shifted, his head still pressing awkwardly against her leg; there wasn’t really enough room for them to move with any sort of freedom. “Okay,” he panted.

Bethany gritted her teeth and reached up, hands carefully searching for her next handhold. Samuel followed her closely as she levered herself up, and she had to bite back her frustration at his immense closeness. She knew it was next to impossible in the confined space for them to have much by way of personal boundaries, but her nerves were ragged and her emotions were raw and she had to resist the urge to kick him in the shoulder until he gave her a little more room to move.

Taking a deep breath, she scrabbled a little higher, her staff digging into her back hard enough to leave her winded. It was much narrower than she’d been hoping for, and from the pained grunting coming beneath her it didn’t seem like Sam was enjoying it any more than she was. When she pushed off again and went higher she heard him swear. “Watch the staff, Captain.”

“I could drop it on your head,” she snapped irritably.

“Or, you know, we could hurry it up,” Aradan hissed, “since I’m not really fond of being torn limb from limb.”

She grunted and got her foot into a new gap; when she put her weight onto it, the stone gave way and she slipped a few inches. Rocks and gravel went crunching down onto Sam, and she clawed wildly, ripping the skin from the pads of her fingers as she desperately tried to grab a hold of the walls again. Samuel grunted when her boot connected with what felt like his shoulder, and his hand snatched at her leg.

Somewhere down below, Aradan swore violently. “ _Fuck_ , I have something in my eye.”

Sam was shaking, but he was still holding her up. “You okay, Beth?”

Her whole body was trembling from exhaustion, and she nearly sobbed from the pain when she tried to hook her fingers around the rock again. She couldn’t tell how deep the wounds were, but they hurt enough to make her wonder if she had any flesh left or if she was clawing at the tunnel wall with her bare bones. “Fine,” she whispered, and tried to reach up again.

It was exhausting. And terrifying. The shaft grew increasingly more narrow, and increasingly colder, and her arms were burning. She heard Sam swear when her staff knocked him in the head again, and when they cursed softly she knew she’d knocked loose too many bits of rock and dirt. Years in the Deep Roads had hardened her nerves and she liked to think that claustrophobia wasn’t really a problem for her, but Maker it was getting hard to breath. Was that the rock walls crushing at her chest, or panic?

“By the Dread Wolf, they’re coming! Hurry Bethany!” 

Speed was impossible, but death was coming up quickly. She had to climb faster. She heard a crunching noise that sounded like the crystal at the top of her staff, and a moment later gasped from the excruciating pain as the sharp, glass-like crystals pierced through her jerkin and between her shoulders.

But Aradan shouted from somewhere below her, more than a little panicked, and there was nothing she could do but do her best to ignore the pain and shove her way upright. If she didn’t she would die.

Were those stars she could see, in the blackness above? Was it perhaps not quite so dark above her as the dark she was escaping from, or was that a trick played upon her by exhaustion, her vision fading from the sheer immensity of her weariness? The tunnel was so tight, horrifically so, and she was beginning to panic that she may have in fact have led them straight to their doom. They had nowhere to go but up in an increasingly narrow tunnel, or down to the waiting darkspawn. She could hear them now, and she knew they had to be close. The hook in her belly tugged harder, the nausea rising in her throat. She felt hysterical tears bubbling up; she didn’t want to die this way, trapped in the rocks, far from the sun, far from life.

She didn’t want this to be her end.

She was panting, half sobbing, scratching desperately at the tunnel as she tried to wedge her shoulders through the rapidly narrowing gap. It was getting harder to keep her grip- exhaustion was dragging at her, and her fingers were bloodied and raw; when her hand touched something cold and a little more yielding instead of the hard, icy rock she yelped in alarm.

“Beth?”

She could feel Samuel’s hand on her ankle again, and she couldn’t tell whether it was an attempt to hold her up, or whether he was desperately trying not to go skidding back down the chute, sending himself and Aradan plummeting back to their doom.

“Snow,” she rasped, rubbing it between her fingers to be sure. It hurt; Maker did it hurt. It was cold and gritty, half ice crystals and half frozen earth, and it stung the open wounds on her hands. But it meant they were close, that the surface was only a few more feet away.

There were tears in her eyes, pained and hysterical, as she tried to shove upwards. She was having trouble breathing, the walls crushing so tight around her, and she didn’t have the room to put her arms back down. She had no idea how Sam was going to fit through the space, when she was struggling so badly- the man was built like a Qunari, all broad shoulders and towering height that served him well in battle, but not so well in the horrifically cramped quarters they were trapped in now. Panic seethed within her, rising like a storm as the tug of the darkspawn grew stronger.

She clawed at the earth, refusing to accept defeat. She wasn’t going to die in the fucking dark, dragged into the depths by monsters. Freedom was so close now, mere inches away; her injured fingers burned from the cold of the snow, her lungs were on fire from the exertion, her head was faint and dizzy and her cheeks tear streaked. But she could smell pine needles, and snow and fresh air and she couldn’t give up now, not when she was so close. She could hear Aradan cursing somewhere below her, as dirt rained down on the men behind her, but she didn’t care. Her fingers were pushing through snow, just snow now, she was clear of the earth, and then-

Her hand burst free, nothing but air above her as she clawed for a new handhold. There were none to be found, and she sobbed in relief as she tore her way free of the snow, wriggling and kicking at it with nothing short of hysteria, laughing and crying in equal amounts as her other arm got free, then her shoulders, and there were stars and trees and gentle rolling whiteness all around her. She was shaking, hysterical, sobbing in huge heaving gulps as she levered herself out of the hole, the skin of her hands red from the cold as the ice sank its claws into her flesh. She could see that now, see her own skin from the faint reflection of the snow and then she was out, _out of the wretched hole_ and she was crawling across the snow, aware of the cold but aware that she had to give the men room and she knew she had to give Samuel help, because he’d surely be struggling but her head was spinning and she felt like she was made of nothing but air and pain and instead she found herself flopping onto her back, panting frantically as she fought to control her hysteria.

The air was still, the night quiet beneath the endless blanket of stars. _Stars_ ; Maker, they were so beautiful. Cold and bright and brilliant, piercing through the night so sharply. They sparkled like diamonds, so perfect after weeks in the darkness. She breathed a shaky sigh of relief, the little cloud steaming in front of her face; the cold burned, and the tears on her face were so very painful, but she was too happy to wipe them away. The cold was alive, so sharp and fierce and her body throbbed from it, and it was so different to the ancient, deep cold of the earth. She laughed, and it sounded feverish even to her own ears, and through the pain all she could think of was how desperately, hysterically wonderful it was to be alive to feel this pain at all-

She heard it too late, her instincts kicking in at the last second. The arrow hissed through the air towards her and she threw up a clumsy shield. She was exhausted, and her magic was heavily depleted, so the arrow made it through- at greatly reduced speed, thank the Maker, but as it bounced off her shoulder, she knew it had hit hard enough to leave a colourful bruise for tomorrow.


	3. Bethany

“What the-?”

She lurched to her knees just as she heard another bowstring twang, the sound loud in the deep silence of the night. She threw herself to the side, towards the dirty hole in the snow, just as the arrow went whizzing overhead; she swore she felt it brush past her hair. Sam’s hand groped at the open air and she grabbed him by the wrist, heaving with all her strength.

“Ambush!” she hissed, trying to pull Samuel out of the earth. It was like trying to move a boulder; she nearly wrenched her shoulder out of joint by pulling too fast. His jerkin was slick and his skin was clammy, and his eyes were dazed; she could have sworn he stared straight through her.

He got halfway out of the hole and mumbled something unintelligible before he collapsed on the snow. There were shouts coming from the trees now, wordless roars intended to frighten and intimidate her; she was humiliated to admit that it was working.

“Beth, what the fuck is going on?” Aradan’s shout was muffled, trapped as he was beneath Samuel.

“Someone’s attacking!” She grabbed hold of Sam, hooking her hands around his shoulders and throwing all her weight into getting him loose. “I think it might be Avvar!”

She couldn’t make out Aradan’s response, but it sounded like another curse.

Between the two of them, they managed to get Samuel loose; he slithered from the hole rather ungracefully, and Bethany nearly tripped over him in her haste. Her legs sank into the snow, the drift coming as high as her knees as she half-lunged half-fell forward to help Aradan. More shouts came from all around her, and she glanced up at the exact right moment to see the first of their attackers burst out of the tree line.

Clutching a _staff_. 

“Hands on your head!” he shouted, sending a blast of lightning shooting towards them. Bethany dropped Aradan’s hand and threw up yet another shield, this one even flimsier than the last. She saw it visibly shudder when the lightning hit, and it only lasted a second or two before it shattered under the force of the attack.

The lightning hit her square in the chest and she went flying backwards, landing in the snow several feet away, staring dazedly up that the stars as she tried to remember how to breathe again.

She heard Dan shouting, and saw another blast of _something_ go flying overhead- from a _different_ direction to the first attack. She hadn’t fought groups with multiple mages since her days running amok with Marian in Kirkwall nearly a decade earlier; on the odd occasion that the darkspawn had themselves an emissary in their ranks, she couldn’t recall a single time that she’d encountered a group with more than one. She didn’t even know if she knew _how_ to ward off multiple mages at once. There wasn’t exactly an abundance of Warden Enchanters at hand ready to teach her battle magic. Wincing at the immense effort it took to roll over, she was panting from exertion by the time she managed to crawl to her hands and knees, just in time to see a group of wild looking men and women converge on the hole, shouting and making threatening gestures with rusted swords and knives.

Oh Maker, _Aradan_. “We’re not going to hurt you!” she shouted, but her voice was lost in the ruckus. “Don’t kill him!”

“Came out of the ground, Sarge, just like the spawn!”

“What if there’s more? _What if there’s more?_ What if-”

“Shut the fuck up, Eric, you panic and you’ll be dead faster ‘n you can draw breath to whine again!”

“Hey! That one’s getting up again!”

She heard the crunch of the snow too late and realised there was someone behind her. “I said keep your hands where I can see them!” She went sprawling into the snow when she felt a boot in the small of her back; the wind was knocked out of her lungs badly enough to hurt. Rough hands grabbed at her, shoving her onto her back; before she could draw breath there was a staff pressed firmly beneath her jaw, pushing down on her windpipe.

Choking, she tried to shove it off, but it was to no avail. “Maker take you, get off!” she rasped, the threat somewhat worthless in her current predicament.

Harsh laughter was her answer. “The Maker isn’t welcome company here, my dear, especially not when he comes creeping up in the shadows of monsters.” Her tormentor was a man of middling years, his black hair silvering at the temples, and for the mountains in mid-winter he was appalling underdressed. Beneath his cloak he wore nothing but a threadbare linen shirt; she was cold even through all her layers of leather armour and padding, so she knew he had to be freezing. He looked wild, but not like one of the barbarians that made the mountains their home.

“We are no monsters,” she choked desperately; “we are Wardens! We fight the monsters you fear!”

He bared his teeth at her, a poor approximation of a smile. “Monsters come in many shapes, missy, and sometimes them with the sweetest faces hide the darkest hearts.”

Maker’s blue balls, she’d never heard such paranoid dribble before. But he was deadly serious, which was the most terrifying part about it. This man suspected her of something sinister indeed. She couldn’t hear Aradan, or see him, and fear rippled through her at the thought of what they might have done to him. She didn’t dare look away from this madman leaning on her throat, and she couldn’t precisely move either- the very last of her strength was thrown into keeping the staff from choking her completely.

There was such determination in his eyes, a cold ruthlessness that she would have respected were she not pinned at the end of his staff. As it was, she didn’t have the novelty of offering him her respect, not when he was threatening to kill her, and may have already fatally wounded her wardens. She didn’t have time for this nonsense- there was no way in the Void that she was going to die now at the hands of madmen, just when she’d escaped from-

“Darkspawn,” she whispered, eyes widening. “There are darkspawn behind us.”

There was an explosive blast somewhere to her left, and the flare of light was followed close after by a surge of heat. Over the noise of the flames she heard familiar shrieking that faded abruptly, and the nausea in her belly began to settle immediately. “Not anymore, there ain’t,” came a female voice from the same direction as the explosion.

Bethany stared up at the man above her. He didn’t even flinch at the violence or the obvious peril they had all been in until a few moments ago, and his female companion had just casually slain five darkspawn without even blinking. “Who _are_ you people?” 

His smile was little more than a sneer. “We’re free mages,” he said proudly, aggressively, “and we’ll not let some tainted puppet of the Chantry send us to our deaths.”

She frowned. “Wait, I’m not-”

“Bring them!” He clearly wasn’t interested in anything she had to say, spinning about with what she suspected was the teensiest bit of melodrama, his cloak swirling as he turned away. She didn’t have the chance to see if he flounced across the snow just as broodily, for the moment he turned he of course took his staff away from her throat, and she gasped for air, the cold burning her innards. The stars spun overhead, sharp little points of light that had no right to be moving so fast.

She was dragged upright, rough hands grabbing hard enough to bruise. She was too tired to fight them, as much as she wanted to; it was interesting to note how none of them seemed to have gloves of any kind. In this weather she was surprised they weren’t missing a few fingers. They bound her hands behind her back tight enough to make her gasp a little, while someone muttered a few choice words that sounded suspiciously like the bind hexes that the Templars used. Her magic was so depleted that she couldn’t even feel the effects of it on her stores, but the skin on the back of her neck crawled uneasily. 

No one gave her the chance to see Aradan or Samuel, but she heard enough cursing in both Trade and Elvhen to know that Dan at least was conscious, somewhere behind her.

“Move.” She was pushed forward, a jarring shove between her shoulder blades propelling her forward a few steps; she nearly lost her balance and went to one knee in the snow, recovering at the last moment.

“Where are you taking us?” she asked, craning her neck about to see how many of them there were.

She counted at least six, all but one carrying a mages’ staff, before she received a cuff over the back of her head for her troubles. “I said _move_.”

As they dragged her back to her feet, she heard the dark haired mage snap “Someone get that hole filled in, before we have to deal with more of them.”

They hauled her through the forest, a watcher on both sides to ensure she couldn’t sprint off into the night; they ignored her desperate questions, so she stopped asking them. She didn’t have the energy to fight them in any capacity, not even in an argument. It could have been minutes or it could have been hours that they walked- she lost track of time, but the stars had shifted their positions by the time they slowed their merciless trek through the forest.

Bethany was exhausted and terrified but she perked up a little when she noticed the hesitation of her guards, and tried to make note of the details. The snow gave way to beaten, muddy tracks, filthy slush churned up by a great number of feet. There were pitiful attempts at a barricade, logs bound roughly together around the perimetre of what was obviously a camp. There came a bird call- she had to roll her eyes at the pathetically obvious attempt at communication from the sentries- and then a set of flares ignited in the near distance.

No, she realised. Not flares. The flames were being held aloft by mortal hands- they were mages.

Just precisely how many people were they hiding up here in the blighted snow?

“Ho, Martin!” A woman ran forward from the opening in the barricade, peering hesitantly into their faces. She had directed her comment to the dark haired mage who seemed to be in charge of this infuriating escapade; the woman looked as ragged as he did, her thin cloak fluttering around thin shoulders. “What in the Void is all this?”

“Chantry spies,” he announced loudly, drawing murmurs of alarm from up ahead. He came back into her peripheral, striding forward with great determination as they came through the gap in the fence. “Wardens, if they’re to be believed, and we all know Wardens are little more than puppets to the Divine.”

Bethany wanted to snap at him and retaliate, despite knowing how little her words meant to him, and opened her mouth to do so- but the sight of the camp left her mouth hanging open for an entirely different reason.

Broken shacks and lean-tos, as rough and desperate as those she had seen in Darktown back in Kirkwall. There was not a single solid structure in the entire place, nothing but fluttering sheets in place of doors, stones piled in awkward lines to try to form basic walls, odd lengths of wood lashed together with fraying bits of rope. If anything they were possibly worse than the hovels she’d seen in Kirkwall. But the people of Darktown only needed the shelters for privacy, and sometimes for warmth- they were not designed to be a protection against the elements. Horror rippled through her as she stared around at the dilapidated camp, realising that this was how they lived, this was how they dealt with blizzards and plummeting temperatures, that the ragged clothes were not an act but the hard truth of their existence.

She turned to Martin incredulously. “You live like this?”

One of the other men spat on the ground near her feet. “Better to live free as mongrels than caged as a lapdog,” he snapped. “We aren’t interested in lording over other men like the Chantry says we are, but we sure aren’t interested in letting them lord over us.”

Her temper spiked wildly, exhaustion and fear and frustration melding into a furious anger. “I am no more a Chantry lapdog than you are!” she shouted, rounding on the man who had spoken. He clenched his jaw and didn’t say anything at her attack. “The only reason I am a warden today is because I was stupid enough to risk the Deep Roads in the hope that I could escape them!”

“Martin!” A female voice rang out across the camp; Bethany noted how the few mages in her view all stiffened immediately at the sound. “What is the meaning of this?”

Bethany turned to see a woman so small she mistook her for an elf for a moment; she was a good head taller than her, and Bethany didn’t consider herself particularly tall by any stretch of the imagination. Her hair looked black in the moonlight, and there was a certain sharpness to her face that bore a startling resemblance to Martin’s features. She stood in the entrance to one of the lean-tos; a thin shawl was clutched around her shoulders and she had a pair of vastly oversized boots on her feet.

He had gone tense at her appearance, shoulders squared and taut. “We found Chantry spies, Wardens trying to creep past the perimeter-”

“And so it required all this wretched noise?” she said sarcastically, gesturing at those gathered around the entrance to the camp. “What of the children, Martin? They have enough trouble sleeping in the cold as it is; now you interrupt what little sleep they manage with your ranting?”

“Cayhla, that’s hardly-”

“It is hardly _what_ , Martin? Hardly fair? Is that what you were going to say?” She clutched her shawl tightly around her shoulders as she stalked forward. Martin actually flinched at her approach. “You don’t think it’s fair that I berate you for your stupid chest-thumping and weak bravado? Did you even stop to think of the consequences of taking prisoners?”

“I will not let them risk our home,” he snapped.

“You don’t need to let them do it, you fool, when you’re the one who has risked our home!” Her voice cut like the lash of a whip, and an awkward silence fell over the camp; Bethany risked looking about, and saw that most of those gathered looked desperately like they’d rather be elsewhere than in the path of this woman’s ire. “By bringing them here at all you have ruined any chance of maintaining our safety-”

Bethany couldn’t help herself. “We don’t want to risk your safety,” she said quickly, interrupting Cayhla. “We can- _I_ can help you.”

“Bethany.” That growl belonged to Aradan. She licked her lips, wincing at how chapped they were in the cold, and ignored him.

Cayhla was watching her with an inscrutable expression, eyes hooded.

“We aren’t working for the Chantry,” she said hesitantly, now less sure of herself after her initial outburst. “Wardens have an oath of neutrality-”

“Cause that was real neutral of y’all to put a Templar on the throne,” someone said snidely behind her. It sounded like the same man who’d spat at her feet.

“Not quite so neutral to blow up a Chantry, now, is it?” Martin said, just as coldly.

She almost stamped her foot in frustration. “Ten years I have served as a Warden without question,” she said, directing her words to Cayhla and ignoring the men. “Ten years I have bitten my tongue and turned to the side and done my best to ignore the injustices of the world for what I was told was the greater good.”

Cayhla’s eyes glittered in the moonlight. “You wonder,” she said simply, a statement and a question.

Bethany nodded, her nerves driving her on. “I was told there was no other life for a mage- to live in chains, or to serve the Wardens. I thought it was impossible to live free without consequences.”

“Oh there are consequences,” the other woman said on a laugh; it was bitter, and held the same harsh edge that Martin’s laugh did.

“I can help you,” she continued. “I can make things better for you; as a Warden, I’m not without resources, and there are plenty who will assist me-”

“Bethany, what are you _doing?_ ” Aradan shouted, and she turned to look at him. The look on his face nearly broke her resolve but she steeled herself and turned back to Cayhla.

“Untie me, please,” she said quietly, her words carrying in the still night. “Let me help you. I can help you build a better life than this.

Cayhla regarded her silently for a few agonisingly long moments. “I make it a habit of knowing who it is exactly I’m making deals with,” she said slowly, “less chance of me being surprised by something nasty further down the track. So tell me, Warden Bethany, who you are and why precisely you want to help a ragtag group of mages and their families in the mountains?”

She hesitated for the longest moment, debated whether to say anything, fought the inclination to lie, took a deep breath. “My name is Bethany,” she said finally, “but you’d probably recognise me by my family name.”

Cayhla cocked her head to the side. “And what would that be?” she asked, a shrewdness in her eyes that suggested she’d already guessed.

“My… my name is Hawke. I was there in Kirkwall at the start of the war, and I fought alongside my sister. So I guess you could say that mage freedom is rather important to me.”


	4. Leliana

**9:41 Mid Winter**

_When shoeing home across the white,  
I thought I saw a bird alight,_

The bulk of the snow had landed during the night, with the occasional lonely flake still drifting along on the faint breeze. There were white mounds piled up against the sides of the buildings, but for the most part it had all been trampled into the ground, turning the streets to icy mud, with the occasional slushy puddle that you didn’t notice until you were in ankle deep. And in the few places lucky enough to have flagstones instead of dirt, the melted snow had turned into a treacherously thin layer of ice, just enough to send more than one hapless victim flailing to the ground.

Everything was brown and freezing and miserable.

In other words, she was in Ferelden again.

Leliana wrapped her cloak further around her, wincing as she felt the first hint that her boots weren’t as waterproof as she would have liked. She could have worn something a little more ostentatious and a lot more reliable, but she was attempting discretion- which sadly meant worn walking boots and frozen toes. Winter in Ferelden was a special kind of beast, especially this close to the Amaranthine Ocean; the icy winds rolled up along the coast from the dark, uncharted waters, blasting everything with frigid gales for weeks on end. Thankfully Mount Drakon blocked the worst of the winds, but it was still not a good day to be out and about in Denerim.

The market was fairly empty, only the most foolhardy and determined setting up their tables for the onset of trade. She pitied them, hoping for the sake of their families that they’d see a decent turnover for their effort. It was unlikely, though- the country had only had a few decades of relative peace to recover from the Orlesian occupation before the Blight had ravaged a goodly portion of the arable farmland, and now to be facing the threat of a world consuming war…

Her heart went out to the few merchants shivering over their wares, and she sent up a quick prayer to the Maker on their behalf. At the very least, maybe the wind would die down and the sun would come out, just to make their day more bearable.

She made her way slowly through town, more interested in keeping a low profile than rushing and then tripping on the icy paths and making a scene. She’d stayed at the inn last night precisely to keep her return to the city quiet, so the last thing she needed was to go sprawling in the marketplace in front of any number of witnesses. Keeping her hood up to hide her rather distinctive hair, she hesitated when she saw that the portcullis was still down in front of the palace courtyard. Affairs must have been more tense in Ferelden than their sources had led them to believe. 

There was a small crowd milling about before the gate, obviously waiting for their chance to petition the king and queen; some enterprising soul had dragged a steel drum close to the gate and had lit a fire within it. Several people were clustered around it, passing around a flask while surreptitiously eyeing the guards on the other side of the gate. 

She weighed up her options, debating whether standing about idly with the rest of the crowd was her best bet, or whether she ought to try and pull rank to get through the gates early. Or maybe she’d be better off entirely if she went back to the inn and wasted a few hours with a hot drink and a good book, she thought wryly. 

But every minute lost was a minute that Solona was moving further beyond her grasp, and that wasn’t acceptable. There was no way that Cassandra was sitting idly by and waiting on the convenience of kings and magisters in her hunt for Marian, so she had no reason to succumb either. She had a duty, a task set by the voice of the Maker himself, and she would not fail in it. There was too much at stake.

Steeling herself, she marched past the crowds and up to the portcullis and cleared her throat loudly, waving when a nearby guard glanced in her direction. He promptly ignored her, and she bit back the little surge of irritation.

“Hello,” she called brightly, waving through the gate again to try and catch his eye. “I know you can see me. I would very much love to come inside now.”

“Gates don’t open for another hour, love,” he said, sounding anything but interested. If anything he sounded bored and annoyed. “Specially not for some pushy Orlesian.”

Her jaw clenched in frustration. “I need to speak with the king and queen on a most urgent matter,” she said politely, or at least the closest approximation to polite that she could manage under the circumstances. Really she’d love to slap him over the back of the head and scold him loudly, but that would hardly get her anywhere. 

“You and about half the kingdom, love,” he said tiredly. “Sod off and come back later, okay?”

She sighed, frustrated that it had come to this in public. “As an agent for Divine Justinia and a dear friend of both King Alistair and Solona Amell, I do not think that coming back later is in my best interests, would you agree?”

She tried to keep her comments quiet and for his ears alone, but it was impossible when he was standing several feet away. She heard the murmurs start behind her, and more than one person whispered ‘ _Leliana_ ’. The last thing she’d wanted was to draw attention to her presence in the city.

Rather late for that now.

The guard stared at her for a few long moments, his expression clearly hovering between suspicion and resentful humiliation at having denied entry to a woman of her stature. His blustery sigh conveyed to her just how _immensely_ she was putting him out with her request. “Lemme just go talk to the captain,” he said grudgingly. “She’s the one with the keys.”

He slouched off in the direction of the gatehouse, and she tried to lean casually against the portcullis as if she didn’t have a care in the world. The whispers continued behind her, and she did her best to ignore them. After several agonisingly long minutes he reappeared with a woman in tow, a vaguely familiar figure that prompted at her memory as she drew closer.

“Cauthrien,” Leliana said when she stopped on the other side of the gate, hazarding a guess as to who the woman was based on the last intelligence reports she’d read. 

“Leliana,” the other woman replied, a tight smile on her face that didn’t necessarily convey any warmth. “What are you doing here?”

Right to the chase. “My business is with the king and queen,” she said politely, “not with the gate captain.”

Cauthrien’s jaw clenched noticeably. “I am Captain of the King’s Guard and responsible for their safety. That includes manning the gate when men are down sick. And it includes keeping the palace secure in whatever manner I deem necessary, which means investigating the potential threat posed by a Chantry agent.”

A fair point, and she had expected it, after all. “I need to speak to them about Solona.”

“She’s not here,” Cauthrien said instantly. “Just like she wasn’t here last time your little pets came snooping about.”

“A fair point, but I still need to speak to them. And I do carry the authority of the Divine herself- unless their majesties are denying the authority of the Chantry altogether?”

Cauthrien stared at her through the portcullis for a few long moments, her displeasure clear in her eyes. But she finally grunted what Leliana took to be some sort of approval and reached for the ring of keys at her belt. They jangled noisily in the silence that had enveloped the courtyard; Leliana tried to ignore the eyes she could feel burning into the back of her head. 

As Cauthrien swung open the side portal, a voice piped up from behind. “How come she gets to go through and we don’t?”

“You know why,” Cauthrien responded caustically.

“That ain’t fair, she ain’t even proper Ferelden, we’re actual facts citizens and we can’t even get in to see our own king-”

“If you want to get in at all, I suggest you keep your thoughts to yourself,” she retorted bluntly, pulling open the gate to let Leliana pass through. 

There were boos and angry calls as the gate clanged behind her, but Leliana didn’t acknowledge them. 

“Keep to your post,” Cauthrien said to the original guard, then indicated the main doors with a jerk of her chin. “Come on then.”

“I know the way, Captain,” Leliana said demurely. “I’m not in any danger of getting lost.”

Cauthrien actually laughed at that, a short sharp bark of sound. “As if I’d be foolish to let an agent of the Divine loose inside the palace without supervision. You should know better than that.”

Leliana shrugged. “It never hurts to try.”

The palace doors creaked loudly when Cauthrien pushed them open, and Leliana raised an eyebrow at the noise. Surely things were not so dire in the kingdom’s coffers that something as simple as oiling a set of hinges could be considered an excusable lapse? 

Cauthrien didn’t speak as she marched briskly through the familiar halls; Leliana had to quicken her step to keep up with her. It wasn’t early by any stretch of the imagination- the sun had been up for a few hours now, but she was surprised at the relative quiet of the palace. She couldn’t hear the noise and bustle one would normally associate with the ruling house in the land, and they only passed a handful of souls on their way to the royal suites. 

There was a woman waiting for them in the antechamber, a dark haired elf that Leliana remembered from all those years ago. Her face was familiar where her name was not, at the very least. Cauthrien bowed stiffly, a gesture which the elf returned with a small curtsey. The Captain nodded briefly at Leliana, her face tight, before she snapped her heels together and stalked smartly from the room. 

Well, that was at least one person not pleased to see her. That number would grow exponentially by the end of the day, she was sure.

The elf servant smiled warmly at her. “My lord and lady will be ready in a moment,” she said quietly, her lilting accent making her seem deceptively meek. Leliana had always thought it a curiosity, that the Queen would have an Orlesian as her personal handmaiden; surely that decision had been one that had caused a rift between father and daughter. Unless it had been a deliberate choice on her part, to distance herself from the legacy of her father. 

Or perhaps she served the Queen in more than her capacity as handmaiden, as the rumours went. 

“Can I fetch you any refreshments at all?” 

“No, that’s quite alright,” Leliana said, smiling quickly. It was a telling sign of the woman’s capabilities, that they would knowingly leave her alone with a noted assassin. “I broke my fast before I set out this morning.”

“Very good, messere.” She curtseyed again. “I’ll just check to see if they are ready for you.”

She slipped to the back of the room, leaving Leliana to stand and amuse herself while she cracked open the door to the room beyond. After a moment’s murmured discussion, which Leliana unfortunately couldn’t make out, the elf turned back to her with a smile, hands clasped demurely in front of her. 

“They’ll see you now,” she said, holding the door open wide enough for Leliana to pass through. 

The room was familiar and yet not much had changed in the ten years since she had last been here. The furniture was laid out in a different pattern, but the tapestries were the same. The loom in the corner was new, but the chest at the foot of the bed was not. There were memories here, and pain- memories of the vivacious and argumentative young mage who had stood toe to toe with kings and queens and heroes and had broken just as many things as she had repaired. 

“Maker’s Breath, you look freezing.” Anora, blunt to the point of being impolite. Her golden hair had dulled, grey creeping in at the edges, and her face was sharper, more severe. She was still a remarkably handsome woman though. She gestured impatiently from where she sat on the divan. “Alistair, take her cloak from her.”

“It’s not so bad, really,” Leliana began, but Alistair was already beside her, towering over her and tugging the cloak from her shoulders despite her protests. “I did sleep in the mud of this country for a year, you know.”

“Just because you’ve done it before doesn’t mean you have to sleep in flea ridden inns now,” Alistair said as he hung her cloak to dry on a peg near the door.

Something about his statement was far too direct for her to discount as anything but a jab. “You knew I was in the city last night,” she said wryly, flicking the wet strands of hair away from her face.

“Of course we did,” Anora said, folding her hands smartly in her lap. The movement was so careful, so graceful; Leliana didn’t have to wonder whether it was a practised move at all. Something about her mannerisms was just so controlled, as if she’d sat down the night before and planned them all ahead of time. Anora would have excelled masterfully at The Game. 

“You could have come to the palace,” Alistair said pointedly, his fingers drumming irritably on the mantle above the fireplace. The last ten years had not been so kind to him- he was not the taut young warrior he had once been, perhaps carrying a little more weight than he needed to be. There were lines around his eyes and mouth, and the laughter and the light had gone out of him. “These doors are always open to the Hero’s companions.” He sounded sincere enough, but there was no warmth in his eyes.

Still no love lost between them, then.

“Sometimes it’s nice just to be anonymous for a while longer,” Leliana said, easing down into the couch opposite Anora. The last time she’d been in this room, Solona had been bargaining with the Queen for her support in the lead up to the Landsmeet, and she had just been a quiet observer. How things had changed. “Or as anonymous as one can be when one is a national celebrity.”

“What can an agent for the Divine possibly want with Ferelden that could not go through more official channels?” Anora said blithely, deliberately ignorant.

Leliana wasn’t stupid by any means- she’d been playing a much more complicated game than Anora had for most of her life. The queen wanted her to spell it out for her. “I am looking for Solona,” she said calmly.

Alistair chuckled once, quietly, a sound that almost sounded bitter. “Surely the best place to look for a Grey Warden would be with the Grey Wardens?”

“Or perhaps the best place to find the Hero of Ferelden is in _Ferelden_ ,” she quipped.

“Whatever path Solona walks, it is no longer with us,” Anora said. “Whatever it is you seek from her, you will not find it here.”

“With all respect, your majesty, you have no idea what it is I want with her. Perhaps I shall be the judge of whether or not what I need is here in Ferelden.”

Alistair laughed humourlessly. “As if we could ever risk denying the requests of an agent of the Divine.”

“Let’s not be foolish now, Alistair, there are few who would agree that Ferelden is beholden to the Chantry any longer.”

Her words cast an awkward pall over the room; Alistair cursed softly under his breath, and something hardened in Anora’s eyes. Whatever hint of hospitality she had been entertaining before now had vanished entirely.

“I haven’t seen Solona in years,” he said angrily. He ran his hand through his hair, an old gesture that she recognised from their days travelling together. He was frustrated, bitter. “Not since before, well...”

“Not since before you abandoned your duties as king and went traipsing across the world in pursuit of a ghost,” Anora said calmly. 

The tension in the room could have been cut with a knife, and Leliana had to wonder what precisely Anora thought she was achieving by showing the cracks in their marriage to a foreign agent. The Queen sat benignly, her expression mild as she looked over at Leliana, while Alistair had gone red in the face, his jaw clenched so tight that a vein was popping in his neck. 

It was at that moment that a rather timely interruption took place, in the form of an outraged shout from the hallway. There was the clash of metal, as if swords had been drawn, and the familiar sounds of the guards arguing with someone.

“Messere, you will return to the main hall immediately.”

“I will see the King now, you ill-bred cur! Get out of my way!”


	5. Leliana

The commotion grew louder, and Alistair’s dark expression was focused on the door instead of his wife; Anora didn’t even react, her demeanour as calm and composed as if they were sitting down to afternoon tea, and not at all as if a rabble was storming through the halls towards her. 

The door burst open, and a well-dressed man charged in, shoving a bloodied and filthy man before him onto the rug. He had his sword drawn, and there were guards at his heels, grabbing at his shoulders and attempting to haul him back.

“Unhand me, you filth!” he snarled, batting their hands away; he planted his foot in the back of the man and shoved him back to the floor as he attempted to rise.

Alistair had snapped into an aggressive stance at their entrance, and had his own sword out. Leliana took her cues from Anora and remained calmly seated, although her hand did settle over the place where a knife hid strapped to her thigh. 

“What is the meaning of this?” Alistair roared, and the interloper actually quailed for a moment before straightening.

“This man must be killed,” he said bellicosely, gesturing at the poor shivering soul on the rug before them. Nobody moved to comfort him, but Leliana could see the utter loathing and hopelessness in his eyes. “He is responsible for the deaths of my sons, and-”

“I wasn’t talking to you,” Alistair snapped. He turned his attention to the guards. “Why is this man in here? We do not take audiences in our private chambers, especially not armed lunatics.”

The man drew himself upright. “ _Ser_. I am a proud Fereldan, born and bred, and this man is a _murderer_. There is no higher cause than that of the sons of our land being lost before their time. Especially with our land so recently mourning the deaths of so many.”

“We are reminded every day of the losses within our own family, serah, we need not have you remind us as well,” Anora said coldly. “On what business do you so violently invade our home? Bearing arms in the presence of the King and Queen no less? That is a grave crime in its own right, ser.” She nodded subtly to the guards, and though they took a step back, they did not sheathe their weapons.

The man gritted his teeth and took the hint, angrily stuffing his sword back into his belt. He took his anger out in a different way and kicked the poor sod on the floor, and Leliana held back a wince of sympathy at his small cry of pain. “This man was to lead my sons on an expedition to Orlais. He assured them that they would be well protected and that he knew the paths well. Weeks went by without any word, and then I find this wretch in the tavern, buying drinks for more of his ill-bred ilk and wearing my eldest’s coat! He admitted that the caravan was attacked and that he fled- _fled!_ Leaving my poor boys to fend for themselves against those savages! And then he had the gall to-”

“Ser, if I may interrupt for a moment: your tale makes no sense,” Leliana said. “I came through the Pass not two weeks ago, and I assure you there were no bandits or even a hint of trouble.”

“We didn’t go through the Pass,” the man on the rug mumbled, lifting his head. “Verrol paid me to take them through the mountains to the south, to avoid the border tariffs.”

Verrol, if the man had his name correctly, went bright red in the face, and his eyes were flaming. “Shut your filthy lying mouth, you cur!” he snarled, kicking at the downed man again. “You would say any lies to save your worthless hide!”

“We have a number of patrols on our side of the border, serah,” Anora said, “and the Orlesians are quite diligent with their patrols too. Especially with the rise in violence since the troubles began. I assure you, if there were any incidents at all, your sons would surely have had the assistance of either the Ferelden or the Orlesian armed forces. Do you mean to tell me that you think they are perhaps being lax in their duties?”

“It is a long and dangerous road through the mountains, and bandits can come from nowhere,” he spat, his face still bright red. “These wretches need to be hunted down and dealt with! For all we know, they are in league with this demon here! He may be leading caravans to their doom!”

“We have had no reports of caravans or travellers ambushed in the last few months,” Alistair said. “We cannot hunt down bandits when we have had no reported incidents.”

“I am reporting one to you right now!” Verrol screeched, spittle flying from his mouth. 

“So your sons took it upon themselves to elude the border tariffs which are essential to funding the coffers of our kingdom, and in the process travelled on dangerous, unpatrolled roads and got themselves killed,” Anora said coolly. “I think I understand your point to be that you are _displeased_ that we have neither the manpower or the resources to go and hunt down said unpatrolled road and patrol it, just so that you can continue to avoid contributing your share of taxes to the kingdom. Additionally you are unhappy with our refusal to fund your personal vendetta against these desperate people, when you yourself are quite capable of funding an expedition to deal with them. Is that correct?”

Verrol’s jaw worked, his eyes bugging out. “That is most definitely _not_ what I-”

“If your sons were killed on a foolish venture in the Deep Roads, would you claim that the fault lies with Ferelden, or King Bhelen?” She turned to Alistair. “What do you think, my dear? Perhaps we need to inform our dwarven ally that our citizens find his military responses lacking?”

“I would _never_ presume-”

“You presumed that it was appropriate to interrupt a private council between the King and Queen and a foreign diplomat,” Alistair said coldly. It was interesting to watch, the play between Alistair and Anora. There was no love between them, to be sure, but after a decade together they made a masterful pair when it came to politics. “What’s more, you entered without our blessing, in a violent and threatening manner, and bearing arms. Any number of those is bad enough, but the last is all but unforgivable.”

Verrol’s face went ashen. “But this monster murdered my sons!” he screeched, gesturing at the bloodied man on the carpet.

“This man was simply an opportunistic coward who fled at the first sign of trouble and pocketed your gold. I sincerely doubt that he was-”

“I ain’t made no deals with them mages, or the wardens,” the man on the rug said. 

There was a moment of silence after his words, a sort of collective holding of breaths, before Alistair said “What do you mean, wardens?” He glanced quickly at Leliana, but not so fast that she didn’t notice it.

“I heard ‘em, I heard one of them call the woman a warden. I hid in the trees and didn’t move until after they finished looting, but there was a woman in charge, a mage and they called her a-”

“That will do thank you,” Alistair said grimly, glancing again at Leliana. “Escort them both to a cell, thank you. Preferably not within range of one another.”

The man on the rug moaned pathetically, and Verrol went bright red yet again. “You cannot imprison me,” he spluttered, “I am a member of the Merchant’s Guild! I have rights!”

“You tortured a man, entered the palace armed, and were violent in the presence of the King and Queen,” Anora said dryly. “I doubt that there will be many within the Guild in a hurry to take up your cause.” 

“You cannot do this!” Verrol’s shouts disappeared down the passage as the guards dragged him away, another arriving to take the injured man away a few moments later.

“See to it that he gets medical aid,” Alistair said tiredly. “And have someone take the rug away for cleaning.”

An awkward silence fell after their departure, until Leliana cleared her throat and began “A mage warden-”

“He didn’t say mage warden, he simply said warden,” Alistair said angrily, staring into the fire. “And you’ve got no proof that it’s her. There have been defections from the wardens in the past; this would hardly be anything new. I’m not exactly a warden anymore myself, am I?”

“You would let a warden run a bandit operation on the edge of your realm?”

“You would take the word of a tortured man, so desperate to save his own skin that he would say anything?” Anora rebutted. “He had no proof that the woman he saw was a warden- she may have lied to the mountain folk simply to gain their trust. Even the Avvar know of the wardens.”  
“It could be Solona.”

“And it could be a complete waste of our time and resources in a time when both are rationed with the utmost care,” Alistair said. “The world is falling into chaos, Leliana, and while the Divine may think it’s appropriate to send an agent chasing after a memory, we have a country to defend. And my duty to Ferelden comes before my duty to the Chantry.”

“Then your duty to the Chantry must be insignificant indeed, given that you abandoned your post in Ferelden so readily to waste time and resources hunting the memory of your father.”

“A thought that crossed my mind,” Anora said mildly.

Alistair’s jaw worked as if he was fighting the urge to snap an angry retort, and he looked away, a flicker of shame crossing over his face. “Regardless, this is just a regrettable loss. Anyone who risks the unpatrolled mountains only has themselves to blame for such an incident.”

“So you aren’t even going to interrogate the guide?”

“To what end? The poor soul has already been thrashed to within an inch of his life, and I doubt he’d have anything of substance to tell us.”

“Anything of substance? What about the location of the attack? The paths he took through the mountains? How often does he lead caravans through to avoid the tariffs?” She glanced from one to the other, meeting only cold unfriendly stares from the both of them. “At the very least let me talk to him.”

“No.”

The instant refusal stunned her. “No?” she said incredulously, turning to Anora. “You would deny an agent of the Chantry-”

“This is a domestic matter and I will not have the Chantry interfering in how this country is run,” she said coldly. “Especially in a time when the Chantry has lost so much power already, I will not have them thinking they can gain an easy foothold and a willing lapdog in Ferelden.”

“You would so openly defy the will of the Divine?”

“I defy the interference of Chantry agents in domestic affairs that have no relevance to the faith of the people,” Anora said. “In matters that concern the spiritual well-being of my subjects, you of course have my full co-operation. This is a border issue, and if anything we will be speaking to the Orlesian Ambassador.”

“You don’t want Solona found, do you?”

“Perhaps I’m simply not interested in the Chantry meddling in the politics of Ferelden,” she said caustically. “Or providing them with a very volatile figurehead in what is already a very volatile situation. What is it precisely you hope to achieve by finding Commander Amell? That she will call all the errant little mages to heel, end the war for you?”

“What the Divine requires of Solona Amell is not an issue I am prepared to discuss without first discussing it with Solona herself.”

“Then I am afraid we are at an impasse,” Anora said mildly, as if she hadn’t just openly aligned Ferelden against the wishes of the Divine. “You are of course quite welcome to stay for as long as you like, but I am not sure that you will find much to enable you to further your goal here in Denerim. Shall I have a room set aside for you, or will you be leaving us?”

Leliana glanced towards the King. “Alistair...”  
He laughed mirthlessly. “As if I’d be foolish enough to say anything now,” he said bitterly. “I’m sorry, Leliana. It would be better for all if you just left.”

***

He assumed it was late. There were no windows in the cell, but he knew that the guards had changed twice, and even though he’d lapsed in and out of sleep he knew he’d been awake for several hours as well. 

Every part of him was aching, perhaps not as fiercely as it had before the visit from the Sister. She’d done her best to clean him up, but the dungeons were not really the most sanitary place in the palace. She’d spent most of her time with him with her nose wrinkled distastefully- though whether that was at him or at his conditions, he couldn’t tell.

He was half dozing, unable to sleep properly from the throbbing in his head, when he heard a noise. Not that unusual, in itself. The guards patrolled up and down the corridor every half hour or so, and although the guardhouse was up a flight of stairs, he occasionally heard laughter or conversation trickle down to where he lay. 

This sound was a little different though, and something about it made him crack open an eye. The dungeons were poorly lit- why waste precious resources on lowly prisoners, after all- and he couldn’t really make a lot out. He craned his head against the bars, trying to look down the length of the corridor. 

“Hello?”

No-one answered him, which in itself was odd. If it was a guard, they would have told him to shut up straight away. The noise came again, a half grunt, half clatter, like armour clinking together.

“Wh-who’s there?”

There was another clatter, and one of the guards came into view- slumped on the ground just inside the puddle of light cast by the torches. 

“Who is it?” He licked suddenly dry lips. “Is that you, Harry?”

There was a slither of steel, the spine-chilling sound of a knife sliding free of its sheathe. He backed away from the bars, groping behind him for the piss bucket. At the very least, he’d go down kicking. 

“Not Harry,” came a female voice from the shadows, and something about her tone set the hair on the back of his neck on end. “But we can still be friends.”

He swallowed. “You’re that bint that was with the King,” he stammered. “The fuck do you want?”

“I’m here to talk to you, my dear, nothing complicated-”

“Did you kill them?” he asked, his voice more high pitched than he would have liked. “The guards, did you kill them?”

She chuckled, a sultry sound that made his gut turn over. He peered desperately through the darkness for some sign of where she was standing. “Oh, Maker no. That would hardly make me welcome in these halls, and I’m not done with Ferelden yet, despite what our dear Alistair would prefer.”

“Are you going to kill _me?_ ”

“Of course not. We’re just going to have a little chat.” She finally came somewhat into the light, a terrifying silhouette as the flames bounced off the knife in her hand. “You’re going to tell me everything you can about the warden in the mountains.”


	6. Leliana

The journey across southern Ferelden had been relatively uneventful, if unpleasant thanks to the weather. It alternated between freezing rain and slushy snow, with the occasional clear day in between. A wild squall blew in from the lake as she drew nearer to Redcliffe, leaving the cart she had bartered a lift in bogged in icy cold mud. It was a long, frustrating walk the rest of the way to the town, and she couldn’t feel her fingers by the time she made it to the inn.

She lost a day recovering, tossing and turning in the cheap straw bed while she shivered and sweated through the worst of it, and when morning broke on the second day she tossed the threadbare covers aside and climbed onto shaky feet. Her clothes at least had had a good opportunity to dry, and she sighed in relief when she pulled her boots on and didn’t even find a hint of damp. 

The mountains stood before her, craggy peaks piercing towards the clouds. The Imperial Highway curved around to the right, following the shoreline of the lake. She knew if she headed north, she’d find the newly cleared roads heading through Sulcher’s Pass towards Haven, which would be a blessedly easy route into the mountains compared to what lay ahead of her. She would follow the road as far north as the first river and turn inland. According to both her map, and the directions given to her by the rather terrified fellow back in the cell in Denerim, the river would lead her almost directly west, to a lake nestled amongst the peaks. The lake was a favourite amongst the local Avvar tribes, he said, and he’d traded with them in the past. It was this path he’d taken with the ill-fated caravan when it had been attacked, but he hadn’t been all that specific on where it was precisely they’d been ambushed. 

Surely it couldn’t be that hard though, and this was the most concrete lead she’d had in months of searching. It was unfortunate that she had to traverse the treacherous mountain paths in the middle of winter, but she couldn’t afford to let such an opportunity slip away from her. 

“May your search take you to warmer climes than mine, Cassandra,” she muttered under her breath, keeping her head down as she walked into the wind. The road ran parallel to the lake with several feet to spare, and every now and then a particularly virulent gust would shower her in freezing spray. 

The Maker asked a lot of his chosen few, she found.

In clear weather she probably could have made the journey in a few hours, but it took her most of the day to make it to the river. The mouth was wide, almost a half league across, but the road swerved back inland to a much narrower point in the river. The old Tevinter bridge had stood the test of time, worn grey stones and a low wall that the waves slapped at and surged over; there had to be magic in the mortar for it to have stood so long unchallenged by the elements. It would be a sight to behold in spring, when the melting snow surged down from the distant peaks on its way to Lake Calenhad.

According to her guide, it was easier terrain on the northern bank, so she gritted her teeth and made her way over the bridge. She was soaked to the bone within a dozen steps, and wrapping her cloak about her did little to help. Night was falling; it was not unusual for it to be dark so early in the evening, but it certainly wouldn’t help her to get warm by any stretch of the imagination. The one lonely consolation she could give herself was that at least it wasn’t raining.

It was dark by the time she made the far shore, and she stumbled away from the road and towards a copse of trees on a small rise, the first of the foothills. Behind them the mountains loomed up, a darker shadow against the dark sky. Somewhere, hidden amongst the mass of stone and snow, was a dark skinned mage potentially masquerading as a warden. Or she might in fact _be_ a warden, a hope that Leliana was clinging to. There was every possibility she wasn’t a warden, or that it wasn’t Solona if she was, but the vague hope that it might be...

She would not fail in this. She would find the outlaw camp, and she would find this mysterious renegade mage. It was her duty, her sacred task, to save the world from mayhem and disaster.

The grove was damp but not wet, and she was able to get a pitiful fire going after some effort. She spent an unpleasant night listening to the wind howl in the heights, and dreaming uncomfortable dreams about sheer cliffs and snow and black granite and sheets of unholy flame.

The next morning dawned grey and cold, with dark clouds looming on the horizon and threatening fresh snow. The wind had died down, thankfully, and she covered the last of the embers and rolled up her kit. She gagged on the bread she’d bought from the tavern, thoroughly soggy and awful, then abandoned the rest of the loaf on the ground. Some winter bird would thank her for it. 

There was a trail that ran alongside the river, just as the prisoner had said, and she set off at a jog to get warmth back into her extremities. After a few hours the incline became too steep, and she stopped to rest. It was disheartening to look back and realise what little distance she had covered, especially given that her calves were burning from the exertion. Refilling her water skin in the river, she eyed the approaching storm clouds uneasily and kept going. 

The terrain grew rougher as the hours went by, and all hints of the track slowly petered out. More than once her bow got caught on branches as she struggled through the overgrown forest; the trees grew so thick and so close to the water that more than once she put her foot down only to curse and step back hurriedly as she sank ankle deep into icy sludge. 

By late afternoon her legs were burning from the effort, and the wind had changed, the cold sharpening with the onset of the storm. It howled through the peaks above her, the deep and sinister moan that set the hair on the back of her neck on end. It sounded like an enraged beast, mortally wounded and rabidly angry.

She shivered and kept climbing. 

She had hoped to make it through the narrow pass that the prisoner had described to her before nightfall, but the climb was more exhausting than she had anticipated. The cold was so utterly debilitating, and she had to admit that it seemed almost as bad as that wretched year spent sleeping in the mud with Solona’s rag tag group. She’d been younger then, full of passion and outrage at the state of the world and fuelled by the all-consuming fire of the Maker himself. Older now, and with a few more aches in her bones and a little more restraint than she’d had as a young firebrand, but no less determined in her duty.

And those journeys past had been in the company of friends, or at least those who had helped the time to pass more quickly. Those who took turns to take the lead position and fight their way through the undergrowth while she merrily followed from the back and took advantage of the path they had fought. She missed the awkward camaraderie, the conversations that filled the deep silence of night; she missed the certainty she felt knowing she was fighting the battles the Maker needed her to fight.

Not that she doubted her purpose on this quest, but the morality of a Blight was certainly more black and white than the quagmire of renegade mages and rebellious Templars and continent wide anarchy that they faced right now.

Her musings were interrupted when she heard howls in the distance that were sharper than the howls of the wind, a different cadence. She recognised that sound, and she reached immediately for her bow. It was hard to tell which direction the wolf pack was, with the sound echoing through the hills, but she had to hope she was downwind of them. With all the rain of the last few days, her scent was hopefully weak, and the storm was approaching quickly as well, bringing more confusing smells and masking snows. 

Keeping her bow out she hurried onwards, hoping to find appropriate shelter from both the storm and the wolves. Her hopes fizzled out as she felt the first kiss of cold against her cheek; glancing up at the grey sky, she sighed as she saw the soft flakes falling down around her. Gritting her teeth, she continued onwards and upwards.

Not five minutes had passed when she felt a creeping sensation, the feeling of being watched, and she froze. The snow was drifting down slowly, softly, and the landscape was eerily quiet and still. Leliana kept herself as static as the scene around her, a little cloud rolling from her lips with each puff of breath, her fingers gently caressing the fletch as she kept her bow taut. 

The feeling did not abate, and her nerves grew worse. Trying not to panic at the sound of the wolves howling yet again, and closer it seemed, she very carefully looked around.

She almost missed her, because she was so utterly still that she seemed to be a part of the landscape itself. But something made her double take, and her breath caught at the sight before her. 

The girl was young, not yet twenty by the looks of her- there was a softness to her face that adulthood had not yet snatched away and that the fearsome ochre paint on her cheeks could not hide. She was easily the tallest woman that Leliana had ever encountered, and even though she was motionless against the snowy backdrop there was something gangly about her, as if she had not quite grown into the muscular frame she sported. Her hair was a pale, ashen blonde, almost white, and was pulled back from her darkly bronzed face in a tangle of twists and tiny braids. There were a few hints of colour in the mess, coloured beads that glinted in the last of the sunlight. 

She had a bow in her hands, but it was aimed towards the ground instead of being held in any sort of threatening manner. Her muscular arms were bare despite the cold, wearing only a sleeveless leather jerkin and a set of rough vambraces to shield her wrists from the arrows. There was a splash of colour in the form of a tartan sash that fell from one shoulder and cinched about her waist, icy blue and deep evergreen threaded through black. She looked wild and barbaric, as if she had stepped out of a song, as if she were as savage and ancient as the mountains themselves.

Leliana hesitated, unsure of what to do while faced with such a woman. 

The girl’s face was stony as she called out “You speak Trade?”

Leliana blinked in surprise. Her voice was heavily accented, but her words were clear. “You... you do?”

“No, I’m simply amusing myself,” the girl said drolly. “What are you doing in the lands of the Mountain-Father? These paths are not safe to walk alone, especially for a Lowlander.”

“These lands are under the jurisdiction of the King of Ferelden,” Leliana said, “and I walk them with his blessing.” It was only a small lie. “And you are alone, too.”

She smiled slowly. “Am I?” The silence of the mountain suddenly seemed oppressive; it was not the gentle quiet of a snowy alpine scene, but the absence of sound as the forest held its breath in fear. Leliana knew, without a shred of uncertainty, that the girl was very much not alone, even though she had not seen or heard another soul. “Your King does not speak for me and mine. Your King has never braved the slopes of Belenas or grappled with the might of Korth. If your king had learned to walk in the presence of Hakkon Wintersbreath then we would bow to his judgement, but he no more breathes the winter storms than a wolf can dance upon water.”

“He may dance over frozen water,” Leliana quipped, “and in a land consumed by snow I’d think it would be more common than not.”

“Oh, you have the pluck and courage of a ptarmigan,” she said, her smile all teeth. “But witty words don’t a sovereign make. Why does your King send an armed agent into our lands during the months of Hakkon’s fury?”

“I am seeking someone. A mage- a dark haired woman leading a group preying upon travellers.”

Her expression didn’t change, but the air between them was suddenly charged. The tribeswoman straightened, her shoulders tense as she said “You are still a day’s walk from their camp. You will not make it before the storm engulfs us. Have you shelter?”

Leliana swallowed uncomfortably. “If you have been following me, you know I do not.”

“Do you have the means to trade for it?”

“I have gold, Ferelden and Orlesian.”

The girl shrugged, and slung her bow over her shoulder. “We can trade it to the dweorg, at the very least. You can sleep with the dogs if nothing else.”

She lifted a hand to her mouth and let out a series of bird noises; after a moment, the feeling of unseen eyes watching them eased, and some of the tension between her shoulder blades eased with it. The woman gestured through the trees with a nod of her head, and Leliana followed her obediently.

“What do they call you, Lowlander?” the girl asked over her shoulder.

“I am Leliana,” she said simply, for the moment choosing to withhold the fact that she served the Divine. “And yourself?”

“I am Lasair.”

“A... low seer? You are a mage yourself?”

“ _Pitchaixikkich_ , you and your wretched accent; it’s like trying to talk to a drunken dog.” 

“I’m... I’m sorry?”

“ _Lasair_. It’s my name, not my title. I’m no more a mage than you are.”

“Oh my goodness, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to offend-”

“Offend? By calling me a mage? Why would that offend me?”

Leliana went to answer out of habit, and then thought better of it. “I’m not sure,” she said honestly. “Obviously a mage is held in a different light in your culture.”

“Obviously,” the girl said dryly. “We must hurry- the storm is closing in, and we’ve still a ways to go.”

Lasair led her onwards, hurrying through the slowly thickening snowfall, until she almost couldn’t see the dark girl running several feet in front of her. She lost her footing when they crested the hill, and stumbled a little in the snow; Lasair was there beside her instantly, like a grey ghost, hoisting her back to her feet and pressing her forward. 

“It’s not far,” she shouted over the rising wind. “Five minutes. Just around the curve of the lake.”

She pointed vaguely to their right, and Leliana looked at her to check that she wasn’t playing a prank on her- there was nothing but a wall of seething white around them. If Lasair thought she was being helpful or friendly by pointing out the lake, the gesture was well and truly wasted.

They stumbled through the snow, and just as promised the vague hint of buildings began to resolve themselves in the murk. Lights glowed steadily brighter as they drew closer. They ran past a wall and a watchtower, Lasair leading her to one of the largest buildings. “The longhouse,” she shouted. “Guests of the clan usually stay here unless they’ve invitation to stay in a private abode.” She shoved open the door with her shoulder and they staggered out of the snow and inside. 

It smelled of smoke and hay and shit and burnt meat, and Leliana had to fight the urge to wrinkle her nose in distaste. There were canine howls at their entrance, and she spotted a number of wolfhounds and Mabari milling about; and amidst the long tables and fire pits there were several Avvar who did a double take at them.

“Lasair!” A huge man lurched upwards from the tables, as tall and wide as the mountains themselves. His richly dark skin and his shock of icy blonde hair and beard, grizzled and wild, bore a striking resemblance to Lasair’s own. His accent was atrociously hard to understand. “ _Niviasar_ , you stayed out far too late! Were you trying to tempt Hakkon to take an _abnallautaq_ for a new bride, eh?” 

“Wintersbreath would not get a single knot undone were I to sing,” Lasair quipped. She reached up and brushed snow from her hair, stamping her feet to dislodge the worst of the cold. 

“Ey, he’d run screaming for the gulleys if he heard that cat yowling you call singing, _abnauraq_ ,” he said, stopping in front of them. “And you’ve gone and dragged yourself a waif in from the cold. What’s all this about?” 

“This is Leliana,” she said, tugging her bow and vambraces off and tossing them haphazardly on a nearby table. Leliana fought not to react at the gross mispronunciation of her name, Lelly-Anna. Turnabout was only fair, she supposed, she had gotten Lasair’s name quite wrong as well. “She has business with the _afatkuq_ camp. I’ve agreed to take her in the morning.”

“Have you now,” he said, eyeing Leliana with a lot more care than a moment ago. “Keen to head on down to that pit of _nimibiaq_ , are you eh?”

“Keen is not precisely the word I would use,” Leliana said, setting her own bow down with infinitely more care than Lasair had. “It is a necessity.”

“Well necessity or not, ol’ Wintersbreath has a bee in his bonnet and you won’t be going nowhere till he stops his tantrum. If Lasair has offered you sanctuary, you’re welcome to bunk down by the fire here until it passes.”

“I’ve gold, to pay my way,” Leliana began, her hand going to her belt where her coin pouch sat. She had a moment of panic when she felt nothing but the worn leather of the belt.

“Ey, you do at that,” Lasair said, coming into view as she tipped the purse up into her hand. An assortment of coins fell out, and a gem or two. “You were a wee bit distracted out in the snow, dear. Far too trusting for your own good.” 

“I _trust_ that’s all you took?” Leliana said dryly.

Lasair chuckled and took a goodly portion of the gold and slapped it on the table. The dregs went back into the bag and she tossed the purse back. “Leliana, this is my da, Jarl Massak of Imabruk Piqaluyak. Not that you can really see it with the blizzard.”

“See.. it?” Jarl? Maker’s Breath, that was something akin to a king for them, wasn’t it? She’d been rescued from the snow by a lanky Avvar princess with sticky fingers.

“The imabruk. Eh, what’s the word... lake?” She grinned wolfishly, her eyes the colour of the storm outside. “You’re in the finest country in the world, Leliana. This land is walked by gods and men and everything in between. I’m sure you’ll fit right in.”


	7. Bethany

**9:41 Mid Winter**

_In summer when I passed the place,  
I had to stop and lift my face,_

“Almost got it,” Bethany said, biting her tongue as her arm scrabbled at the edge of the cogged wheel. “There’s something blocking it, but I can’t quite reach. Maker, how on earth did the dwarves ever reach this? Their arms are about half the length of mine.” 

“Yeah, but they could probably fit in there without a worry and it wasn’t a matter of reach,” Martin said, grunting as her foot slipped and kicked him in the ear. “Watch it, woman.”

“Don’t you _woman_ me,” she snapped, glaring over her shoulder at him.

“Don’t kick me in the ear then.”

“I’ll kick you somewhere,” she muttered, trying to work out the nature of the blockage by feel alone. “It feels like an old deepstalker nest. I’d be willing to bet they set themselves up in here out of reach of darkspawn and spiders and had themselves a merry old time.”

Martin grunted in what could have been amusement or annoyance. “Can you get rid of it?”

“Probably,” she said, straining her fingertips. She couldn’t quite get a grasp of it. “Hold on, I’m going to try something.”

Taking a deep breath, she shot a short burst of force magic into the machinery and heard the crunch of the nest collapsing. There was a huge groan, and dust floated down from above them.

“Heads up!” she shouted, and snatched her hand out just in time.

The blockage broke free, and the cogs began turning again, and the explosive pressure of the water flowing through the channels again was enough to make the wall before them rumble. They both lost their balance and went tumbling to the ground, a painful tangle of limbs as Bethany copped a knee in the stomach and she felt her foot connect with what felt like his nose. 

“Maker’s blue balls,” Martin gasped, leaning to the side and retching noisily. Bethany was too winded to do anything but lie there struggling to breathe, trying to remember how exactly she had forgotten such a basic skill in the first place. It came back to her slowly, in painful little gasps that didn’t allow nearly enough air into her lungs, but enough to keep her from blacking out. She sat up with a groan and offered Martin a rueful smile when he lurched into a sitting position.

“Sorry,” she said sheepishly, holding up a hand with mana gathering at her fingertips. “Should I...?”

“No need,” he said, reaching up and cracking his nose back into place with a wince. His hand glowed blue for a moment and the swelling began to recede immediately, followed by the bleeding trickling to a halt. “Thanks for the offer, but it’s not your specialty. No offense.”

“None taken,” she said, leaning back on her hands. “And well, injuries aside, we did it! We got the plumbing system working again!”

“I scarcely would have believed it,” Martin said incredulously. “Who would have thought these old ruins would be so welcoming?”

The ruins he spoke of were the remains of the old Cadash Thaig, the ruined dwarven city with mysterious elvhen architecture that sat just metres beneath the surface. Bethany had been here once before, many years ago, and had been struck by the stark differences between this thaig and most other dwarven ruins. Other abandoned cities were deep underground, places of shadow and dust and stone, all sharp edges and dwarven sensibility; Cadash Thaig was green and sunlit, mossy and wet and alive in a way the other ruins never were. A waterfall cascaded in through the rock ceiling, and the strange, alien elements of elvhen design gave it a living, breathing feel. 

It was the perfect home for the fledgling mage community. It had taken Bethany about a week to find it, slightly disoriented from her time underground, and then it had been another few weeks trying to convince them all to move. Their camp was woefully inadequate for dealing with the severe storms engulfing the mountains, and she could see how much even the hardiest men and women were suffering; for the elderly and the numerous children amongst them, it was even worse. Moving into the thaig protected them from the worst of the elements, and gave them both a hiding place and a defensive position on the tiny chance that someone would think to assault their camp.

But convincing them to claim an abandoned dwarven city as their own was problematic in itself. King Bhelen had so far avoided allying himself with anyone in the conflicts raging across the surface world, only going so far as to continue providing lyrium to whoever paid the highest prices and keeping the Deep Roads as neutral territory for Wardens. If it came to be known that a community of mages was taking refuge in Bhelen’s domain, the fallout would not be pleasant. She was hoping at the very least to claim asylum in Solona’s name- they were both Amells, after all, and her cousin had done a great deal for both Bhelen and the dwarven kingdoms as a whole. She hoped it would be enough to tip the scales in her favour.

And politics aside, there was always the problem with darkspawn. The spiders and the deepstalkers were bad enough, but the spawn were enough to deter even the most keen. It helped that she and Aradan and Samuel could act as early warning safeguards, to an extent, but currently only two of them were available to help.

Aradan was a very unwilling guest of the mages- unlike Sam and Bethany, he had been chained nearly the entire time after threatening to return to the Wardens. Presumably reporting her defection and location in the process, which she couldn’t allow. Guilt consumed her, knowing she had abandoned her post and her responsibility to both the men, but Samuel had been too badly injured to continue in his duties as a warden anyway. If they returned to Weisshaupt he would be forcibly retired, or worst case scenario, sent on his Calling early. 

He was happy enough here, chasing after the children and letting them crawl all over him as if he were some colossal toy. It was amusing to see, the large Rivaini with tiny pale children hanging from his swarthy arms. She suspected that Samuel had had a family before the Blight, but he never talked about it. She didn’t pry. 

Realising her thoughts had drifted wildly, and that Martin had been speaking, she shook her head. “Sorry, I wasn’t listening,” she said.

“I noticed,” he said, shaking his head at her and tsking. He was smiling though. “I was saying that you seem to be a veritable font of knowledge. You know so much about, well, everything. What are the chances we’d just happen to get a warden with an understanding of dwarven mechanisms?”

Bethany paused to wipe the sweat from her brow and shot him a rueful smile. “I wasn’t always a warden, you know. First I was an apostate, then I ran with a smuggling gang for a time, then some general mercenary work... plus my father was a farmer apostate who spent some time in a Grey Warden fortress prison. I learned a few tricks from him too.”

He did the most amusing double take that she actually laughed. “Your father was imprisoned by the Grey Wardens?” he said incredulously. “I didn’t know they had the authority to do such a thing.”

“Oh no, he worked for them. He helped to invigorate the magical seals on the prison.” She laughed again, somewhat bitterly this time. “Didn’t stop my sister from merrily undoing them all in the space of two days, just to sate her curiosity.”

“Sounds like you don’t approve.”

“Marian was- _is_ headstrong. Sometimes I don’t think she necessarily thinks things through without considering the consequences.”

Martin was silent for a moment. “You miss her?” he asked softly.

Bethany laughed, the sound a little more biting than she intended. “More than I care to. I loved her, but... we weren’t friends. I think more than anything I miss the feeling I got being around her. She had this... aura, this way of making you feel like you were important, that you were a part of something special.”

“You were. You were a family.”

“Family isn’t so special- you don’t really get a say in the matter after all. The friendships you forge and the family you find is much more important.” She laughed again, softer. “Marian found her family, in Kirkwall. And I wasn’t a part of it. It... stings, to know that.”

They were awkwardly silent for a moment, in acknowledgement of just how open she’d been, before Martin slapped her clumsily on the shoulder. “Well, we’re glad to have you here. Maker knows a Circle Tower education never prepared me for anything like this in the slightest.”

“Learned helplessness, Father used to say,” she said, climbing to her feet and offering him a hand up. “They don’t want you to know how to survive on your own, so they take away every part of your independence. They make you need them.”

He took her hand and she pulled him up. “Well, considering you found us cowering in the snow in little more than rags, I’d say you were onto something,” he said with a laugh, stumbling slightly as he gained his feet.

She put a hand on his chest to steady him. “I’d hardly say you were cowering,” she smiled. “You did knock the wind out of my sails for a good day or two.”

“Not bad for someone who was at the bottom of the class for offensive spell casting, eh?”

“Try and take me on even ground, my boy, and I assure you you’ll be back at the bottom again.”

“Is that a challenge? Or a promise?”

She flushed red as she realised how easily she’d fallen into flirting with him. “Now that’s my secret,” she said, winking at him before turning and heading back to the edge of the ledge that they’d climbed up on to find the mechanism box. She swung herself off, dropping the last foot or two to the ground as she avoided the spray from the waterfall, and turned to survey the thaig.

In just a few short weeks, they’d done so much. They’d cleared away the worst of the rubble and established which of the buildings were unstable and unsuitable for use. They’d scrubbed the moss and slime away from the common pathways, reducing the risk of slippages. There were lights visible in some of the windows, mostly little witchlight spells, something every mage learned in the first few months of their power manifesting. 

They were teaching the children what they could from their collective years in the Circle. Most of the mages here had fled from Kinloch Hold, but a handful had come from Jainen to the north, and two had come all the way from Kirkwall. Between them, they managed a decent school for the children. It was certainly better than what her father had been able to provide for her, as much as she dearly loved him, and a vast improvement on what they would have been subjected to in the Circles. Here they had love, and a chance to know their parents and siblings. Here they had a chance to run and play, and simply be children, without the cares and worries that their gift inflicted on them.

She could hear laughter, and movement, and life. Something within her cracked a little at the swelling joy she felt, the realisation that she had made this possible. She had given them this chance at life, to live however they deemed fit, to raise their children and to love and to simply breathe without wondering if death was looming behind them, if their family and friends could be trusted not to turn them in. Not everyone in the fledgling little community was a mage, but too many were. People who would have grown up without a hearth or a home, without the love and affection of a family and circle of friends.

_She had built this._

“Bethany?” Martin came up beside her, his voice tinged with concern. “Are you alright? You’re crying.”

She laughed shakily, wiping her cheeks with the back of her sleeve. “I’m very much alright, Martin,” she said, smiling even as her lip trembled. “I’ve never been happier.” She stood on her tiptoes and kissed him quickly on the cheek.

“Never been happier moments after threatening to wallop me in a duel?” he teased, laughing gently. His hand touched briefly at the place she had kissed. “Messere, you wound me.”

“I think the point is that I’m _going_ to wound you,” she said wryly. She spotted a familiar figure on the far bank of the pool. “Oh, heads up, your sister has spotted us.” She raised her hands to her mouth. “Ho, Cayhla! Is the water working?”

“Who cares about the water?” the tiny mage woman shouted back. “Don’t think I didn’t see that!”

Bethany blushed bright red, and Martin laughed and looked at the ground. “Saw what?”

“That kiss! I saw it! No hiding it from me, you two!”

“You saw nothing!” Bethany called back, but she was laughing. Maker, but it felt good to laugh. 

_You could have a life here_ , whispered a small voice inside her as she and Martin walked around the edge of the pool and back to the settled side of the thaig. _This could be yours. All of it. You could build your own family, just as Marian built hers in Kirkwall. You need not run any longer, or fight a fight that is not your own. Fight for these people- fight for your home._

 _But Aradan will be a problem,_ she countered, reluctant to give into the temptation outright, even if it had been an idea that had been kindling for some time now.

_He will come around. And if not, well- Wardens die all the time in the Deep Roads, don’t they?_

She snuffed the thought as soon as it had surfaced. She refused to entertain thoughts of murder, even with all the blood already staining her hands. Marian had always had an unhealthy habit of attracting trouble, and she had unhappily contributed to the deaths of far too many desperate and starving fools in Kirkwall, hopeless men and women willing to take a chance on a small group in the hope it would win them a meal, or a warmer coat for the winter evenings. She wasn’t proud of what she had done to survive, what she had done by following in her sister’s footsteps; Marian always had an easier time accepting it than she did, never seemed to be plagued by the souls of the dead the way she was. 

She was hardly blameless, but she wouldn’t take the life of a man she considered a decent soldier and an honest soul. Aradan wasn’t precisely a friend, but she did not wish him ill. She could not take his life.

_Even for the sake of the entire community? Even if he risks the lives of the children by threatening to expose them?_

Cayhla had a knowing smirk on her face as they drew closer, her arms crossed over her chest. “William and a few of the others took some of the older children tracking; now that the storm has passed, they’re hoping to find some game to supplement our stores.”

“Supplement?” Martin teased. “You make it sounds like there’s something already in there that we can add it to.”

“Why, brother dear, are you growing tired of your daily allotment of moss broth?”

“Are any of them experienced trackers?” Bethany asked, interrupting the sibling rivalry before it had a chance to escalate. She told herself it had nothing to do with the hollow ache in her chest, the ache that persevered even a decade after Carver’s death. 

Poking her tongue out at her brother briefly, Cayhla turned to her and said “William was a poacher for several years- fleeced the King’s Forest outside Denerim, and when he got run out, he moved on to Redcliffe.” Her smile softened. “That’s how I met him, actually. Martin and I were attempting to escape from the Circle, and we got separated crossing the lake. William found me bedraggled and miserable on the shores of Lake Calenhad, and reluctantly spirited me to safety.”

“Ah yes, and a beautiful love story followed, complete with stirring music and poetry and the addition of several sticky, noisy little minions,” Martin said grandly. “Whereas I was dragged unceremoniously back to the Tower and thrown in solitary for a month for my troubles.”

“And the sacrifice only tempered your noble character for the better,” Cayhla said sweetly. “Why, before then you were a snide, arrogant, sarcastic ne’er-do-well bachelor. And now, well, you’re a snide, arrogant-”

“Sister dear, your mouth is doing that unfortunate thing again where it keeps opening and sound comes out. Perhaps, as the more talented physician amongst us, I could prescribe something to fix it?”

She patted him fondly on the cheek- a hilarious gesture, given that he was a good foot taller than her, with inches to spare. “Martin, you are a sweetheart, but your tongue is going to get you into-”

“Cayhla!”

“Mama!”

The shouts rang out at the same time, and they spun in the direction of the voices. There was enough panic in the sound to make Bethany’s heart lurch up into her throat as she spotted Cayhla’s eldest girl Ness scrambling down the rough path from the surface, followed closely by one of the Jainen mages, Lynelle. Ness was more nimble by far and scampered over the rocks like one of the wild capuchins in Rivain; it was still a difficult climb though, and a small crowd had gathered by the time they made it down.

“Mama!” Ness panted, sprinting straight into Cayhla’s open arms.

“Shh, poppet, what’s the matter?” Cayhla asked, smoothing her hands over her daughter’s errant hair. “Where are the others?”

“Keeping a watch,” Lynelle said breathlessly, putting her hands on her knees as she fought to get her breath back. “The Avvar are approaching, and they have a stranger with them.”

“Do they look hostile?” Cayhla looked calm, but her shoulders had gone tense. She smiled down at Ness and kept patting her hair as the girl nestled in under her arm. 

“They’re armed, but they’re not making their approach a secret; if anything they’re trying to make it obvious that they’re drawing near.”

“How did the clan know we were out here,” Martin said with a scowl. “We’ve not made a fuss for them at all, we’ve kept out of their way-”

“We are in their lands, Martin, and I dare say they know it much better than we do. I wouldn’t be surprised if they’ve kept track of us for months now.” Cayhla chewed on her lip thoughtfully. “What of the stranger? Is he armed?”

“ _She_ is,” Lynelle said, straightening and twisting her lips unhappily. “And she wears a Chantry symbol on her chest.”

Her words were met with gasps from the assembled crowd and a soft curse from Martin; Cayhla absently slapped him on the arm. “Not in front of the children,” she murmured crossly. Bethany felt ill, dizzy; as if the ground itself had been ripped up from under her and she was about to follow it down into an endless abyss.

Chantry. Dear wretched Maker, how had it come to this? How had they been found out so soon? Was she a Sister? A Mother? A templar? A templar would be unlikely to wear the iconography of the Chantry quite so readily these days, but it was hard to say. 

Whose toes had they stepped on, that they had the power to send the Chantry into the midst of a blizzard to hunt them down? 

Her lip trembling, Bethany glanced around at the small assembly. Cayhla, both fierce and gentle at the same time as she comforted her daughter and those gathered. Martin, his face drawn and tight, his eyes glittering angrily but deferring to his sister for the moment. Friends she had made, a family she had built...

_I will not allow this to be threatened._

‘I will go,” she said quietly, turning to Lynelle. “Where are they?”

“I will go with you,” Martin said instantly. Their eyes met, and she could tell he knew what it was she meant to do. She saw the acceptance in his face, the bleak satisfaction as he nodded sharply. “I will fetch our staffs.”

Cayhla watched him stalk off, her eyes dark. “Bethany,” she said softly, “I will not ask what you plan to do-”

“That is for the best,” she said simply.

They were silent for a moment, and Ness peaked out from under her mother’s arms. Her eyes were wide, and Bethany’s stomach lurched in self-loathing when she realised the girl knew what it was she intended. The child knew she was a killer.

 _There was always blood on your hands,_ a voice whispered in the quiet of her mind. _She just sees the fresh stains._

Martin reappeared, offering her staff out to her and she accepted it grimly. She wondered if a sword felt this heavy in the minutes before it dealt the killing blow.

“Let’s get this over with,” she said firmly.


	8. Leliana

**9:41 Mid Winter**

_A bird with an angelic gift,  
Was singing in it sweet and swift,_

“They call you Nightingale?” Lasair chuckled, slogging her way through the snow that the storm had dumped on them the night before. The Avvar had no problem breaking through drifts that would have left Leliana stumbling onto her hands, and she envied the girl her height. “Lowlanders take pride in the strangest of things.”

The day had dawned bright and clear, the sun sparkling over a landscape that had become completely alien in the space of the single night. Snow covered everything; the far off peaks had shown some streaks of black and brown the day before and now they were so white that it hurt to look directly at them. The trees were white, the ground was white, and when Massak shoved the door open with his massive shoulders, it groaned and resisted, snow piled high against the other side. The only splash of colour was the lake, a brilliant blue so rich and deep that she stumbled slightly in shock upon seeing it.

“It’s from the _sirmiq_ ,” Lasair said, coming up beside her and tieing her belt about her waist. “Legend tells us they are the bands that Hakkon wrapped tightly about the Mountain-Father to keep his heart in his chest. The bands were too tight around the wound, and he bled blue for days. The blood pooled at the bottom of the valley and formed the _imabruk_ as it is today.”

“The what?”

“Eh, you make this difficult... I don’t think I know the Trade for it. The hills of ice that wind down the mountain?”

“Glaciers?”

“Guess so.” She shrugged. She took a tiny pot from her pouch and dug a finger in, smearing a black tar-like substance under her eyes; she held it out to Leliana and indicated for her to do the same. “You won’t smell sweet, but it’ll spare you some of the blindness. If you’ve a mind to set off, we can make their camp by mid-afternoon.”

And here they were, tramping across the pristine landscape, the sun glinting mercilessly off the snow so much so that Leliana had to hold a hand up to her eyes to shield her from the worst of it. Lasair had the forethought to don a cloak this time, but her arms were still bared to the elements. There were faint tattoos that she had missed in the murky evening light the day before, intricate and almost savage symbols that wound faintly over her biceps. They glistened in the sunlight, faintly blue against her golden brown skin. 

She was very much the part of the wild savage that featured in legends and songs, but at the same time she was extraordinarily complex. Leliana had not been so surprised by another person in years. “You do not find it comforting to hear someone sing in the dead of winter?” she asked, smiling to herself. She should never have told Lasair her ridiculous code name in the first place, but she’d been spinning the tale of her service to the Divine, and it had slipped out. At least it seemed to amuse her. “The soothing song of a mother at night?”

“My ma has been good and gone for nigh on eight years now,” Lasair said, grunting as she pressed through a particularly deep drift. “The knots ran out on her troth, and she returned to her own clan. And from what I remember, her voice could have made the rocks tear themselves off the mountain and thunder downhill, just to get away from her.”

“Alright then, a bad example,” Leliana accepted with a laugh, stumbling as she followed through the deeper section of snow. “What about victory songs? Drinking songs? The legends of your people?”

“Oh ey, we have our songs for drinking, and for marriage.” She laughed. “Usually they’re one and the same. And the elders tell the tales worth telling, but they don’t waste the tale in a song, for sure. Oh, and there’s the flyting, if we’re in the mood for jest and blood.”

Leliana felt a deep sadness take root in her chest. “I’m so sorry that you think a song is a waste of time,” she said, at which Lasair laughed again. The girl was always laughing, it seemed.

“I don’t think we have the same standards, _illamar_. I love nothing better than to hear the song of the wind winding through the hills, or the sound of the endless stars when the Lady takes to the sky. There’s music everywhere- I don’t need a pipe or a drum to serenade me.”

There was an intense joy in the way she spoke, a certainty that so very few people carried within them. “An interesting perspective,” Leliana said. “And what do you think of Andraste, who sat in these very peaks and sang to the stars, drawing the attention and affection of the Maker Himself?”

Lasair’s laughter rang out. “Ey, you would mention your _naglingnartok_ prophet,” she said, glancing over her shoulder at her. “She was no more of the mountains than you are; the girl was born on the flats by the sea, and taken across the waves to Tevinter. She returned decades later to marry one of our clansmen, and lead our sons and daughters to war.”

“She was Alamarri,” Leliana pointed out. 

Lasair paused and turned to face her. Her cheeks were red from the cold and against the pure white of the snow her skin looked like burnished bronze. She threw her arms wide, as if she wished to embrace their surroundings. “That does not mean she knows the ways of the mountains. Her heart ached for something more, because she could not hear the song of the peaks. She did not trust in the earth and the snow and the stone beneath her feet; she did not learn to run with the wolves, or fight with the strength of the bear. She did not recognise the worth of the ptarmigan, and when she sang to the sky her song rang hollow, for it was not our song.”

Leliana was struck by the passion that consumed the girl. “Such words would be considered blasphemous in other company.”

She made a sound of derision. “She is not my saviour, so what care does she have for my words, eh?” she said, turning back around and beginning the slow trek across the mountain again. “You’ll not catch me breathing a word against Korth or old Wintersbreath or the Lady, but Andraste has no more time for me than I for her. I don’t doubt she did a good thing, stopping them slavers and tyrants, but her Maker is of no interest to me.” 

They lapsed into silence, Leliana dwelling on Lasair’s words as she followed along in her tracks. She knew that the barbarian clans in the mountains were mostly still heretics, but it was another thing entirely to hear such uninterested dismissal with her own ears. But _oh_ , the pride she felt, knowing she was walking the same lands that Andraste herself once walked, lands that she once called home. Miles to the north, she knew, was the hidden temple that she and Solona and the rest of their troupe had discovered a decade ago, the final resting place for the Maker’s Bride. She had wept for joy that day, standing in such a holy place, and the mere thought of the peace and serenity she had felt there was enough to have her smiling blissfully. 

Andraste had fought for the souls of all men and women, not just against the tyranny of the Magisters. Perhaps Lasair and her clan had simply never had the chance to experience the wondrous peace and love that the Chant of Light provided? 

She stared at the Avvar girl ahead of her, forging her way through the snow merrily as if she wasn’t fazed at all by the immense cold and the burning ache in her thighs from struggling through the drifts. Leliana’s legs were killing her, and she at least had the luxury of following the broken path through the snow that Lasair made. She couldn’t imagine how hard it must be for the girl herself.

Wanting to break the awkward silence that their discussion had forced between them, she called “What do you know of the mages? Are we far from their camp?”

Lasair didn’t answer immediately, and for a moment Leliana thought she was going to ignore her entirely. But after a few tense minutes, the girl sighed. “The _afatkuq_ are a peculiar lot,” she said slowly. “Clan of the clanless, they are. Not mountain folk, to be sure. I thought for a while there that Korth had deemed their deaths a necessity, which would have been sad given all the wee ones they’ve got.”

“You would have just let them die in the cold?” Leliana asked, horrified. She understood why the mages might have been driven to such extremes, to hide in such unforgiving places, but knowing there were people nearby with the ability to save them was disgusting.

“Ey, and you let them die underfoot in your grand cities too I’ll wager,” Lasair countered. “We’ve tales of your golden cities, stretching as far as the eye can see but smelling of naught but shit and blood and greed. How many die beneath your feet, eh, with you none the wiser and not caring where their bodies lie?”

“That’s... that’s different- there is simply no way to help every beggar and leper, and there’s the alienage to consider as well, and-”

“Make whatever excuses will help you sleep sweeter in the dark,” Lasair said with a shrug. “Death is death, and it happens to all of us in time. If the Mountain-Father demanded their deaths, there is naught you or I or anyone could have done to prevent it.”

Leliana gritted her teeth in frustration. “That is a morbid worldview to hold.”

“It’s only a sensible one, _abnallautaq_. I cannot help a one of them if I don’t ensure my own survival first. I’ll not argue with the mountain when he’s in a mood.” She cursed as she stumbled in the snow, scrabbling to get her feet under her again. Leliana waded forward and helped her up, hooking a hand under her arm to pull her upright. 

“ _Quyanaq_ ,” she said gratefully, dusting the loose snow from herself and grinning ruefully. “They’ve taken sanctuary in the ruins of a dweorg thaig, a sensible enough decision given the tantrums old Wintersbreath has been throwing lately. For _afatkuq_ they show surprisingly little in the way of sense.”

“You keep calling them that... ah fat kick? What does that mean?”

“ _Afatkuq_ , it’s eh... sorcerer? I think that would be your word for it? Mages.”

“Oh, I see! Yes, that makes-”

She had next to no warning, but she saw the way Lasair froze on the spot, and the next moment a wall of cold air slammed into them, hurling them backwards into the snow. Leliana gasped as the immense force of the attack launched her into a tree; she slammed into it at speed, hitting every branch on the way down to the ground. She lay dazed and winded on the ground, snow cascading down on top of her as she felt every little sting from being whipped by branches begin to burn.

“ _Kussuyok!_ ” Lasair snarled from nearby, wild fury in her voice. Leliana lifted her head from the snow and saw the Avvar stumbling to her feet, an arrow already notched in her bow before she even gained her balance properly. She let the arrow fly and had another one in her hand just as another wall of air came thundering towards them. Expecting it this time, Lasair rolled to the side and threw herself into a snow-bank at the last moment to avoid the concussive blast. Leliana ducked her head but it was still strong enough to shove her roughly against the tree a second time.

Staggering to her feet and reaching for her own quiver, Leliana cursed when she felt cracked and broken arrows. Realising the quiver must have taken the brunt of the blows when she hit the tree, she swung it quickly off her back and dumped the contents on the ground, sorting through them desperately to find an undamaged one. Somewhere behind her she could hear Lasair spitting out vile sounding curses that she had no chance of understanding in the slightest, and a male voice shouting in response. Snatching at the first unbroken arrow she saw, she notched it quickly and spun about, searching for their attackers. 

Two figures stood about half a furlong away, dark shapes outlined by the glare of the snow. Leliana had to squint against the sun as she aimed the bow and fired. As she fumbled for a second, one of the figures shouted, and the first arrow burst into flames, burning down to dust before it could even reach them. 

“Maker preserve us,” she gasped, firing another two in quick succession. The mage repeated the trick, burning the first and attempting to destroy the second. She hissed in pleasure when she saw it impact, her attacker staggering and dropping to one knee. The other paused for a moment in the volleys they were slinging violently towards Lasair, putting a hand over the injured shoulder of their fellow. 

Even from this distance, Leliana could see the quick flash of healing magic, and she cursed again. The second attacker offered their fellow a hand up, but all was not entirely well- the injured mage swapped their staff to the other hand, and tucked the damaged one against their stomach.

“ _Pitchaixikkich_ , you’ve balls of stone to cross an Avvar in her own lands,” Lasair snarled, pulling a knife from her belt and tossing it at them. It whistled sharply in the cold air, spinning end over end, and the uninjured mage smashed it out of the air with another spell, metal shards flying everywhere. “ _Awamurtok!_ ” 

“I most certainly am not!” the uninjured mage shouted back, the male voice she’d heard from earlier. He pointed his staff in Leliana’s direction and his arm jerked from the force of the spell he’d let loose. The air rippled between them, like heat, and she felt the moment it hit her; it was like a landslide had slammed down atop her. Choking from the crushing force of it, she dropped to her knees instantly, her arms snapping downwards to be locked at her sides. Even her head drooped, the immense invisible weight pressing down on her so fiercely that she struggled to keep breathing. 

Out of the corner of her vision she could see Lasair struggling to keep fighting. She dodged two more spells and loosed another arrow, but it was inevitable that she would succumb to the same fate. Hissing and spitting, she staggered wildly, then dropped to one knee; after a few moments, her other leg collapsed as well.

“Crushing prison,” Leliana rasped. “At least they didn’t kill us.”

“If they get any closer I’ll damn well kill them!”

Leliana huffed a laugh; it hurt her chest, the binding of the spell so tight that she didn’t have the room to draw breath. “It’s a bit late for that, isn’t it?”

“Trespassers and murderers, no more honour than the thrice-damned raven!” She bared her teeth. Her accent grew noticeably thicker with her anger. “You are cowards! Monstrous children of the Bakbakwalanoo-”

“Lasair!”

The Avvar was visibly vibrating with fury. “I should’ve noticed sooner,” she said bitterly, kneeling nearby in the snow. Her shoulders and her thighs kept flexing, obviously trying to force her way free of the containment spell. Her face was twisted in anger, and humiliation. “The mountain was trying to warn me, and I didn’t listen. The silence should’ve told me there were enemies nearby.”

“It’s too late for regrets now,” Leliana said, eyeing the mages. They were finally approaching, having stopped to inspect the arrow wound first before drawing near. “They can only have issue with me, not with you. They wouldn’t be foolish enough to so openly attack the Avvar.”

“If you think I’m walking away from this without bloodying some noses you’ve got another thing coming entirely.”

“Don’t be so stupid, girl! If you have a chance to live, you must take it!”

“Don’t be calling me girl, Lowlander-”

“I’m old enough to be your mother!”

“Ey, you are at that, and then some. Still don’t give you leave to be shoving me off like a wee helpless thing.”

The mages were a few yards away now, and Leliana could see beneath the scrappy armours and furs that they were in fact a man and a woman. The woman was stooped slightly, her hood falling across her face, pressing a hand to her injured shoulder, and Leliana could see the splash of blood trickling down her arm even from here. The man was carrying both their staffs, and his face was tight with anger. 

“You should have left us alone, Avvar,” he snapped, fixating on Lasair, who bared her teeth at him in a predatory smile. “We’ve done nothing to your clan, and we’ve kept out of your way. You had no business allying with the Chantry.”

Lasair barked a laugh at him. “You’ve invaded our lands, taken our game, defied the voices of the mountain. You’ve not paid the slightest respect to the spirit of the land, or the Lady of the Skies, and your presence defiles the snow. We have tolerated you until now, out of pity! We have paid you no more attention than the wolf pays to the bark beetle. Be assured now that you will face the wrath of not only my clan, but the combined might of the Avvar. You have erred gravely, afatkuq.” 

“You think that we are helpless? That we cannot face whatever challenge you savages bring to us?”

“Martin, stop,” the woman at his side whispered, her voice horror struck as she stared down at them. Beneath the hood, her lip was quite obviously trembling, and she reached out a shaking, bloodied hand. 

“Leliana?” she whispered. 

Leliana froze, her mood switching from confusion and angry frustration to sinking horror as she saw the face staring back at her from beneath the hood. 

“Bethany,” she whispered, her stomach dropping into her shoes.


	9. Bethany

**9:41 Mid Winter**

_No bird was singing in it now.  
A single leaf was on a bough,_

“You know this _atungitok?_ ” the Avvar said incredulously to Leliana.

“You’re on a first name basis with a bloody Chantry bitch?” Martin shouted at Bethany.

Both women flinched, but Bethany spoke first. “I’ll thank you not to shout at me, Martin,” she said coldly. Her voice wobbled, and for a moment she was noticeably leaning, before she caught herself and straightened. 

“You’ll thank me? _You’ll thank me?_ How the fuck do I know you didn’t lead her here in the first place, that this wasn’t all some elaborate plan to trap us all and have us hauled off to the templars to be slaughtered?”

“Martin, you’re being irrational-”

“Am I? Do you _really_ think it’s that much of a huge leap in logic for me to make?”

“Please calm down, Martin, shouting doesn’t achieve anything.”

“You actually _know_ this _suinnak_ bitch?” the girl said loudly, lurching towards Leliana, her muscles straining as she fought at the enchantment. 

Leliana appeared to ignore her. “Bethany, what are you doing here?”

“What are _you_ doing here, Leliana?” she countered, her face twisting with anger as the most crushing grief tightened around her chest. They had come so close, so very close to freedom and safety and the chance to build a home, only for it to be snatched away now. 

And Maker, for it to be _Leliana_ , of all people. The Sister she had idolised back in the Lothering Chantry, back before her doubts about her faith had come to consume her. The woman who had always had a smile and a story for her, ready to comfort and guide her back to Maker’s word, always inspiring, always gentle, always happy to sit and sing softly while she braided her hair in the Orlesian style. This was Leliana, the woman she had been so utterly smitten with, awed by her faith and the strength of her conviction and certain that she would never _ever_ be as powerful and as empowered by her own religious inclinations. 

It was bitterly ironic that it would be by her hand that all of Bethany’s desperate hopes might come crashing down. She had strayed from her faith, after all- abandoned duty and honour for a selfish chance at happiness. Of course the Maker would send someone to make sure she knew her place again. “You’ve no reason to be here at all! Andraste’s flaming ass, why the bloody void would you, _of all people_ , come here, to the ends of the earth?”

“I came looking for you, actually,” Leliana said quietly. At her side, Martin swore angrily and turned away, staring off into the distance. Bethany could feel the anger radiating from him. “Or at least, I came looking for who I thought you were.”

“What?” Bethany snapped distractedly, tears of humiliation burning in her eyes. Maker, Martin despised her. He had accused her of being in league with the Chantry, with the templars; she could think of no lower insult. “That doesn’t make any sense! Were you looking for me, or were you not?”

“I was looking for a dark haired, dark skinned mage warden,” Leliana said. “I received reports that such a woman was seen in the mountains, leading an attack against an illegal caravan.”

Her stomach lurched in realisation. “Solona,” she said bitterly, anger churning through her like acid. “You were looking for my cousin.”

“I still am. Is she-”

“I haven’t seen her in nearly _six years_ ,” Bethany spat, so very angry that she could feel herself vibrating. It was a wonder the snow beneath her feet didn’t melt clean away. “I’ve spoken to her a grand total of twice. Contrary to popular opinion, I am not my cousin’s keeper.”

Leliana didn’t look at all fazed. “What about Marian? It is most important that I-”

“That you what? _What_ , Leliana? That you beg my sister to undo the damage she and her lover wreaked upon Thedas? That you convince my cousin to come and stand as an inspiring figurehead for your collapsing regime? That you fool the common folk into believing that they should throw their lot in with you again, because you’ve got the backing of the Hero and the Champion, instead of letting them make up their own minds and thinking for themselves for once?”

“Ey, I like her,” the Avvar girl said, eyeing her shrewdly. When Bethany glared at her, she grinned back, all teeth and wild eyes. 

“You’re not helping, Lasair,” Leliana said quietly, keeping her eyes locked on Bethany’s face. Her quiet calm was unsettling, and Bethany wanted to scream at her, to see the composure slip for just a moment. Did she not feel that seething unhappiness at their situation, the anger and the frustration and the bitter resentment? How could she kneel there, serene and unbloodied, calmly acknowledging the fact that her quest had been for naught? That she had wasted weeks on this chase, only for it to end in this hopeless showdown?

Bethany grunted at the shock of pain she felt when Martin put a hand around her arm- her injured one at that- and dragged her several steps away. “We cannot allow them to live,” he hissed under his breath, his fingers digging in more than she appreciated. “This is a thousand times worse than if they had just been random soldiers- she has no reason to offer you her loyalty or her silence. If anything, announcing that she has discovered one of the Amells will only favour her more.”

“Martin,” she began, but his eyes were wild with panic and anger.

“They will attempt to use you as bait, to lure Marian and Solona back to the waiting arms of the Chantry,” he continued. “The rest of us are of no use to them, and they will kill us for our defiance.”

“I swear to you, they will not kill you,” she said.

“How do you know that?”

“What, you think I am powerless against her? You think that I cannot outwit a single Chantry Sister? Your confidence in me is astounding.” 

“This is _all_ your fault,” he snapped. “We had gone undiscovered for months here in the mountains, and now that you have joined us it has only taken them four weeks to hunt us down, and looking specifically for you!”

“They weren’t looking specifically for me,” she pointed out.

He waved his hand as if to dismiss the point, a sneer on his face. “Someone took your description all the way to the Chantry, someone who was able to describe you well enough for them to mistake you for your cousin. That’s not insignificant, Bethany-”

“What do you want me to say Martin? That I’m sorry? That I wish it hadn’t happened? Because I do, I do so badly. But I can’t change what has happened, and I wouldn’t want to. Do you mean to tell me that you think you would have survived the winter living in that wretched camp, without my help?”

“An irrelevant point, because we’re not going to survive the winter at all now, because they’ll send the templars-”

“Get a hold of yourself! Maker, you’re so determined to lunge to the absolute worst case scenario without any hint or rationale or sense! I can fix this, Martin, _we_ ,” she put her hand over his, stroking the back of his fingers to try and soothe him, to try and get him to loosen his grip on her arm, “we can do this, I promise you.”

“I have to think of the children, Bethany. My nieces and nephew deserve-”

“You think I don’t think about them too? You think I’m not considering the fate of every single person back in the camp?”

“Then _kill them_ , Bethany, we can’t let them live. Two lives weighed against the dozens of lives you’ll save.”

“You cannot possibly be so stupid as to want to start a war with the Avvar,” Bethany snapped, giving up and tearing his hand away forcibly. She wobbled on her feet, the blood loss more severe than she’d been expecting, but when his hand darted forward again she slapped it away. “You need both hands in case they get free; stop babying me.”

“We can’t just stand here arguing, we need to make a decision. We need to get you back to camp before the injury does more damage to you than I can repair, and we need to work out what to do with them.”

“We can’t kill them, Martin.”

“We can let the Avvar girl go and kill the Chantry spy.”

“You think she’s just willingly going to walk away?”

“We can always ask her,” Martin said, and leaned around Bethany to look at the two captives. “You, girl, what’s your name?”

The Avvar girl spat near his feet. “ _Tonrar_ , you’re a charmer.”

“Answer the question, we’ve not got time for your sass.”

“I don’t have to give my name to a murderer.”

“Not looking to murder you, girl, I’m looking to save you- tell me your name.”

“You keep calling me girl like it’s something to be ashamed of,” she spat. “I’ll wager I’ve lived a dozen lives to your one, each one richer than you even have the capacity to imagine.”

“Tell me your name!”

“Lasair,” she snarled, baring her teeth at him. “May it haunt you in the nights, like the howl of the wolf as it catches your scent.”

“Well, Lasair,” he said, crouching down by her, “how would you like to go home?”

She hesitated for the briefest second, her snowstorm eyes unreadable. “What mind tricks do you play at, viper?”

“No mind tricks,” he said. “We release the bonds holding you in place, you turn around and walk away and do not return.”

Lasair’s gaze flickered to her companion for a moment. “And Leliana?” 

“You leave her-”

“No. I am her guardian, paid in gold to escort her to you-”

“And you have done as much. Your duty is done and you may depart-”

“I’ll wager that my duties are only just beginning, actually.”

Martin clenched his jaw unhappily. “Is that your final answer?”

She grinned threateningly. “Ey, it may be at that. Let’s take a look at your viper pit first hand. Or we can wait for your strength to wane, and your spell to break. I’ve seen _afatkuq_ at work, I know you’ve limits the same as any mortal man. Do you wish to wager your strength against mine, viper?” 

Martin, his face tense and angry, stood and returned to Bethany’s side. “We cannot risk taking an Avvar prisoner,” he said through clenched teeth.

“And nor can we risk killing one,” she countered snippily. “I told you as much. We have to take them both with us to the thaig.”

“We are already holding one warden prisoner at your instructions, Bethany, how many more people do you intend to haul beneath the earth and imprison at your discretion? We are refugees, not gaolers. I fled from a life in a cage, and I have no intention of being the guardian of a new one.”

“The alternative is to let them both go and have them report our presence to the first roving group of templars they encounter,” she said, fighting to keep her chin from trembling. “We take them with us now, and determine what threat they pose. Convince them to keep our secret.” She took a deep breath. “Kill them if necessary.”

Martin looked vaguely uncomfortable and he wouldn’t meet her eyes as he murmured “There are other ways. Other things we can do. We need not kill the Avvar, but we can encourage her to remember this encounter differently... or not at all.”

Bethany didn’t even bat an eyelid. “You speak of blood magic,” she said softly, glancing over to make sure the women hadn’t heard him. They were still kneeling pitifully in the snow, bound by the enchantment. Lasair kept experimentally flexing her muscles, and there was a fine sheen of sweat on her brow from her exertions. “It’s an option. Something to consider, at least. Have you done it before?”

He blinked, clearly surprised at her reaction. “I, uh... have not? To be honest I was expecting... well I was not expecting you to be so candid about it.”

She laughed softly. “Blood magic is not the vile sin that the Chantry would have you believe it is,” Bethany said. “I have seen many things in my time as a Warden, travelled roads I would never have imagined even in my darkest nightmares. Blood magic is more common than you would think.”

She didn’t voice aloud her deeper thoughts- that she had travelled with a Dalish blood mage, for a time, and that her father’s work for the Grey Wardens was no docile magic. And the darkest truth of all, shared only by a select few amongst the wardens and her original companions- that Solona Amell herself, the Hero of Ferelden, had been a blood mage. Bethany was no stranger to blood magic, and as the years had passed her inhibitions had slipped slowly and what once would have shocked her now only left her with a moment’s disquiet wondering if she had the strength to subdue Lasair’s mind. 

She looked back to the women, her eyes coming to land on Leliana. Her heart lurched, dropping somewhere into her stomach, and she gritted her teeth. 

“You’re both coming with us,” she said softly, but firm enough that they could not possibly doubt her resolve. 

Leliana finally made a noise of dismay. “Bethany, Maker’s Breath, think about what it is that you’re doing!”

Bethany paused, cocking her head to the side as if she were indeed thinking. “The Maker does not walk these lands,” she said coldly, hollowly. “The Maker is gone. There is no one here to hear your cries. I’d save my breath were I you.”


	10. Leliana

**9:41 Mid Winter**

_And that was all there was to see  
In going twice around the tree._

The sunny girl she had known back in Lothering was dead. 

In her place stood a dark and broken woman, powerful and angry and terrifying in the strength of both. She had not thought of the young girl in years, the bright and happy teen seeking guidance and affirmation, her eyes sparkling as she absorbed the tales and stories Leliana had to share. There had been something cathartic in her enamoured attentions, something that soothed her cracked heart after Marjolaine’s betrayal. To see someone who placed such faith in her, offered such loving friendship... it was like a balm to her soul.

But that girl was gone, a trembling sapling no longer. 

There was darkness in her eyes, and hate. She did not flinch from the wound in her shoulder, and the initial shock she had displayed at her appearance had faded. Now there was something accusatory in her face, her expression promising violence and hinting at betrayal. 

It was more than a shock- the difference was so stark as to be utterly shattering. The image of young Bethany Hawke, gentle and optimistic and full of a joie de vivre contrasted so sharply with this harsh and bitter warrior woman that she could not reconcile the two. 

She and Lasair had their hands bound roughly behind their backs, tight enough that Leliana was beginning to lose feeling in her fingers. They were marching them across the landscape, through broken snow that marked the path that Bethany and her companion must have taken on their way here to ambush them. She was still bitter about that; she was an assassin, for crying out loud, and she’d blindly ignored the warning signs that something was amiss. An assassin who couldn’t read her environment was a dead assassin, and here she was with her hands in ropes and her weapons confiscated, being shoved through knee high snow. 

She was getting old. 

Bethany had the lead, and Leliana was behind her. Lasair was walking behind her, muttering curses in the Avvar tongue, and the other mage was bringing up the rear, occasionally retorting in the same language. Leliana took the opportunity to subtly examine Bethany as closely as she could; admittedly, it was not a great deal, given that Bethany had her back to her, but she was well trained in the art of reading body language. One had to be to succeed as a bard.

There were lines on her face that had aged her more than a mere decade should have; harsh lines around her eyes that crinkled as she frowned against the glare of the sun whenever she glanced over her shoulder to check they were following meekly. There was a scar on her chin, stark white against the bronze of her skin, and another that tugged at the corner of her left eye, making it droop slightly; signs that her road had not been an easy one.

She was gaunt- there was no polite way to say it. Beneath the baggy cloak she wore, her armour was quite clearly hanging from her, the plump little farm girl turned all to sinew and grit. Her hair was longer than she remembered her wearing it in Lothering, but that was an age ago at least. Hairstyles changed, people changed, some more than others. 

Bethany, more than others. That much was obvious. 

“How far is it to your wee pit, _tornar?_ ” Lasair called merrily. “I don’t fancy being caught in the snow once the sun sets and the Lady takes her place. Unless you’ve a mind to just let us all freeze to death?”

“Shut up, girl,” Bethany snapped.

“Oh ey, you’ve got a raging case of the grumps. What happened- did a bark beetle get up under your skin and send you near to mad with the clicking?”

“I have no idea what a bark beetle is, and I imagine I’d be more concerned about it being in my flesh rather than any noise it might be making.”

“You make strange friends, Leliana. Does she have a foolish name too? Oh, is she the Magpie? She does make a lot of noise... or the Blue Jay? All that coloured armour is ridiculous in the mountains, no camouflage at all-”

“Lasair,” Leliana warned tiredly, trekking exhausted through the snow. 

“Ey, a girl cannot amuse herself? Maybe she’s a Cuckoo, stealing into the nest of another bird-”

“Sunshine,” Bethany snarled angrily, not pausing or looking back. “They used to call me Sunshine. Will you shut up now?”

Lasair was silent for all of three beats. “Well that’s hardly a fitting moniker, is it?”

Leliana closed her eyes with a wince. “Lasair, _please stop_.”

They marched in silence for a time, nearly an hour; although it was only late afternoon the sun was setting fast by the time they came across what looked like a great sinkhole in the ground. Winter had a way of snatching away the hours faster than she expected, most days. Steam was wafting very faintly from the gaping hole, a hint of heat in the otherwise freezing landscape. There was a soft glow as well, as the lights in the settlement began to fight against the darkness of the evening. With the setting of the sun, the temperature was dropping rapidly, and Leliana found herself shivering as they approached the path down into the thaig.

The sky was clear of clouds for once, and so the deepening colours were on full display, the stars shining so brilliantly that it seemed as if they were diamonds hanging mere feet away. It almost seemed possible to reach out and touch them as they winked into existence overhead. Bethany paused at the head of the pathway, glancing back at them and then down again, as if to assess how much trouble they were going to have with their hands still tied.

It was a moment that struck Leliana as important, and years later the image still burned within her. Bethany, a dark shadow against a deeply purple sky, surrounded by starlight but untouched by it. She was an absence of light in contrast to the brilliance of the stars above and around her.

And that’s what she had become. She was no longer Sunshine- and Leliana didn’t have to guess who had given her that name, she’d spoken to Cassandra at length after Varric’s interrogation the year before in Kirkwall. She was the absence of light, the absence of warmth; gone was the happy young girl with the vivacious smile, sunshine personified, and in her place stood a cold and lifeless woman, as brilliant as starlight and just as perfectly unmoving. 

“The path is steep,” Bethany called, breaking the momentary spell the scene had cast; Leliana shook her head, trying to dispel the stupidly romantic images. “Keep your wits about you, or you’ll be at risk of slipping and breaking your neck.”

“Ey, wouldn’t that be a shame for everyone?” Lasair said chirpily.

“Be thankful I don’t bind your eyes as well as your hands,” Bethany snapped back, then motioned for them to follow her down.

It looked different from above; Leliana had spent far longer in the Deep Roads than she would ever have liked, but had thankfully never made the nightmarish journey in search of the Anvil of the Void. Solona had left most of them behind in Orzammar, and the haunted look in her eyes and the nightmares that had her in hysterical tears for an hour afterwards had told Leliana just how lucky she was not to have taken that journey into the depths. 

But she had been to this place once before- she knew that the instant she spotted the looming statue, the dwarven monument to those who had become golems. Shale had led them to this thaig many years ago, an abandoned paradise that seemed wildly out of place in the fire and stone and darkness of the Deep Roads. They had last come in the summer, when the oppressive heat of the tunnels had only slightly lessened in the empty city, and to see it in winter was something else entirely. The pool was still ringed with ferns, but the water steamed slightly in the cold air. The waterfall was half the strength it had been in summer, and long fingers of ice dangled from the rock ceiling near to the spray. The dwarven monument glittered slightly, a faint sheen of ice turning the appearance of the ancient stone to crystal. Did the wardens know what it was that the statue honoured? Had Solona shared that knowledge with Weisshaupt, or had she taken that horrifying piece of history with her when she had vanished?

It would be morbidly amusing if the mages were unaware they sheltered beneath a tribute to the betrayed dead.

Their approach had clearly not gone unnoticed, though Leliana had not caught even a hint of sentries around the camp. But as they descended into the thaig, trying to keep their footing on the steep path, figures began to appear below. Faces peered around door frames, fingers pointed accusingly. The hint of voices drifted towards them, whispered panic that twisted amongst the sound of the waterfall, susurrations that could have been cascading water and could have been muted accusations.

Bethany’s shoulders were tense, and there was something severe and jagged in the way she walked; an immense unhappiness that weighed her down like a suit of dragonplate armour as a crowd began to gather in the open area at the base of the path. 

“Bethany! Martin!” The crowd parted and a small woman came rushing forward, children clustered at her heels. “What is the meaning of this? You would bring strangers into our camp?”

Bethany pushed past her, and not knowing what was expected of her, Leliana followed. “There were complications,” Bethany said.

“You were supposed to deal with it,” the dark haired woman hissed, in a manner that suggested she was expecting an entirely different outcome.

“I _am_ dealing with it,” Bethany said in a monotone. The crowd shuffled back rapidly, almost comically so, their eyes wide with shock and panic at the sight of them.

The woman caught up to them, reaching for Bethany’s arm as if to stop her but recoiling at the last second. “Maker, you’re injured! Martin, what’s going on?”

“I was overruled,” he said just as bluntly, clearly quite happy to leave the fallout to Bethany.

“You were being irrational,” Bethany responded, leading them across the stone bridge that spanned the small pool. Steam wound up around them, soft tendrils of warmth that took away the sharper edge of the cold. “Someone needed to make a decision.”

“And put all our lives in danger by kidnapping a Sister and an Avvar?” 

Bethany came to a stop before a bleak stone building, windowless and imposing. “She’s not a Sister, she’s an agent of the Divine,” she said, pulling down a lever by the door. With a lurch and the crunching sound of stone against stone, the door began to fold inwards, revealing a sparse and simple room. 

“ _What?_ ”

“I told you, I’m dealing with it,” she said, turning back to Leliana. Her eyes were pained, the shadows beneath them deep. There was so much unhappiness in such a simple look, so much anger and loathing and misery. “Get in.”

Leliana swallowed back her fear. “Bethany, it need not be like this, we can talk about this rationally like-”

“I said _get in._ ”

The force of her voice alone was enough to make a lesser woman quiver in her shoes, but Leliana was made of sterner stuff. Biting back the urge to argue her case further, she lifted her chin and stepped into the cell. 

The door heaved closed with a grating finality, the booming of the rock making her jump slightly even though she was expecting it. With that sound, more than anything, she realised how very wretched her situation had become. With the banging of the cell door, it struck home that she was truly in danger.

And from Bethany Hawke, of all people.

“Company!” came a voice from the back of the room. “How delightful. And what have you done to lose the favour of our dear tyrant Hawke?”

Leliana made her way as far as she dared, alarmed at the fact that she was locked in with another, and realised that the wall was not solid- from about waist height it was bars all the way up to the low ceiling, and from the dim illumination she could see slim fingers wrapped around the bars, and eyes glittering in the light.

“Who’s there?” she asked warily.

“Ah, but where are my manners? Bombarding you with questions before we’ve been introduced.” There was a rustle of clothing and the fingers disappeared from the bars. She had the sense that he might have been bowing. “I am Aradan, formerly of the Grey Wardens, recently a prisoner of Messere Sunshine Hawke and her tyrannical little mage empire. And you are?”

Bethany had imprisoned one of the other wardens? Curious. She had not expected such extremes from her. “I am Leliana,” she said carefully, reluctant to say more and curious to see if her name held any weight amongst the wardens. 

“Leliana? As in, _the_ Leliana? The one who travelled with the Hero?” He came back to the bars, his face all but pressed against them. She could see the sharper, narrower features that marked him as an elf, and the alluring lines on his face that made up his blood tattoo. “By the Dread Wolf, she’s gone mad with power if she thinks to imprison you here as well! What are you even doing here?”

“I came looking for her, actually,” Leliana said carefully. “Or rather, who I thought she was. We heard the reports and thought she was Solona.”

“Solona Amell- Mythal’s Touch wouldn’t that be a sight! I bet she’d give our dear Captain a good wallop for her troubles.”

“So she’s not here? You haven’t seen her?”

“Sadly no- I’ve only been with the Wardens for three years now, mostly in the north. This was only my second assignment to the south.” He laughed bitterly. “And now it’s likely to be my last. I knew I’d die in the Deep, I just didn’t think it’d be like this. It would have been nice to see the stars one last time.”

Leliana felt her heart sink. It was true then- Solona was definitely nowhere to be found in the camp. Bethany’s words were still stinging at her, because Solona had truly been one of her last hopes. She had no precise idea what it was she expected the Warden Commander to do, but her name was a rallying point. To say that the Hero of Ferelden, Slayer of Urthemiel stood with the Divine in the chaotic mess that was consuming the land would have been a powerful marker in their favour. But to have vanished entirely, leaving behind no legacy and no inclination of her stance on the war, was just... such a waste.

So many deaths could have been prevented by her intervention. So many families saved, so many battles interrupted- now nothing but a fool’s dream. She had to get back to Val Royeaux, back to Dorothea; there were plans to be made and a world to be saved. They would have to find themselves a new hero to carry the torch. 

“And what did you do to warrant being locked away with the token sane warden, hmm?”

His question drew her back to the present. “I threaten their secrecy, apparently. Although I was not given leave to argue my case, really. The Divine cares not about a handful of families eking out a living in the wilds- but she does care about bringing peace and security to those at risk from war. We don’t have the resources or the interest in dismantling this camp.”

“Of course you don’t; any rational person can see that.” He chuckled bitterly. “But here we are gossiping and you look to be in a bit of a bind. Can I help with that at all?”

Leliana glanced down at her hands, realising they were still bound painfully tight in front of her. “Oh, Maker yes. I’d gotten a bit distracted, I think.”

She approached the bars, her eyes adjusting to the light and giving her a better view of her fellow prisoner. He smiled, but his eyes were bitter. “Understandable, given the circumstances,” he said, reaching through and untying the ropes from around her wrists. As the blood began to flow normally she winced. “Elgar’nan’s blue balls, you’re colder than a Halla’s nose in the morning.”

“Well, it’s not exactly summery up above, in case you’d missed it,” she said ruefully. She hesitated before asking her next question. “Pardon me for saying, but... you are Dalish, yes?”

He chuckled as he finished the last knot and withdrew his hands. “I’m an elf,” he said vaguely.

“I just don’t know of a lot of Dalish who choose to join the Wardens, that’s all. Solona told me a little of the history and it seems a little, well... not precisely friendly to the plight of your people.”

“I joined the Wardens because I had nowhere else to go,’ he said cryptically. “They took me in and asked no questions and gave me the home and the sanctuary that I so desperately needed.” He chuckled. “ _My_ people. My clan could not be less interested in my fate. It’s easier to just believe that I’m without a people, really.”

And now the people he had turned to for a better chance at life had imprisoned him. “I’m so sorry,” she said softly, rubbing at her wrists where the rope had chafed. 

“Not any more than I am,” he said, moving away from the bars and out of her immediate sight. It sounded as if he had slumped down on the floor. 

“And... what happens now?”

“Now? Now we wait- for Captain Sunshine to either find the courage to kill us, or the common sense to set us free.”


	11. Bethany

**9:41 Mid Winter**

_From my advantage on a hill,  
I judged that such a crystal chill,_

The door to the prison boomed closed, and Bethany felt herself wilt a little. She was physically and emotionally drained, and though the cold had numbed the worst of her shoulder pain, she’d lost enough blood to be far dizzier than she’d like to be. Not that she’d let on at any point during the fight or the trek back- she couldn’t afford to show such a weakness. 

“Do I get a pretty little cave of my own, then?” the Avvar girl said, cocking her hip to the side and raising an eyebrow. She was all sass and spark, completely unimpressed with the fact that they had taken her prisoner so easily. “I have to warn you, I’m half bear- my ma’s clan, you see- so if you throw me in the dark I’m just going to doze for a few weeks.”

Bethany hesitated. “I can’t even tell if you’re being serious or having me on,” she admitted after a moment.

The girl’s eyes glittered. “You can always find out,” she said.

“That would not be a wise idea,” Martin said, sliding up beside Bethany. “The girl isn’t a shaman-”

“The _girl_ has a name, wretch. I’ll just start calling you _the stoat_ , let’s see if that catches on.”

“But there is a history of shapeshifters amongst her people. Legend says they were taught by the Witch of the Wilds.”

Lasair was grinning wildly. “Ey, and you’re suddenly the expert on my people, after reading about us in a book?” She chuckled. “ _Kinnauruq_ , you trust your ancient words on ancient scrolls. Doesn’t bother me.”

“You cannot take an Avvar prisoner,” Cayhla spat, almost vibrating in her fury. “The clans are far more powerful than we can deal with. If they attack to get her back, they will kill us all.”

“And there’s the most sensible thing I’ve heard all day,” Lasair said. “Along with- someone needs to do something about her bleeding, because with the cold she’s likely to lose a few fingers very soon.” 

“I’m fine,” Bethany said helplessly, but Martin had already zeroed in on the wound. 

“I’ve got things back in my quarters that will help. We can treat the injury and then get you cleaned up.”

“We have a prisoner to deal with first,” she pointed out.

“Oh, don’t mind me,” Lasair said merrily. “I can entertain myself.”

“Oh, Maker’s Breath,” Cayhla muttered.

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Bethany said. “Where’s Sam? Is he up?”

“He was helping William skin the kills, on the far side of the thaig.”  
Lasair made a sound of derision. “Ey, and doing a poor job of it I bet. Not a one of you know the ways of the mountain or the spirits.”

Cayhla visibly bristled. “My husband is a hunter,” she said proudly.

“For your pale little lowland critters, ey. These are proud mountain kin. There are ways to do things, the proper way to show respect.” She straightened her shoulders. “Where is the butchery going on- someone needs to show them how to do it right.”

Bethany and Martin looked at each other hesitantly. “You... won’t try to escape?”

“I’m amused for the time being. Can’t say how long it’ll last.”

Bethany looked at Cayhla, indecision clawing at her. “We can’t afford to aggravate the Avvar...” she said slowly. She turned back to the girl. “You won’t try to free Leliana?”

Lasair hesitated for the briefest second. “Self-preservation would encourage me to say no,” she said candidly. “As amusing as it would be watching your horror when da decides I’ve been gone for too long, I’m a bit too keen on my freedom to risk it.”

The three mages looked at one another, all reluctant to make the final call. “Fine,” Cayhla said, waving her hand irritably. “I’ll take her over to Sam and William. Between the two of them they should be able to keep her under control.”

Lasair chuckled. ‘I’ll give your boys a good go, don’t you worry.” Winking at Bethany, she obediently followed after Cayhla as she led her over the bridge again and off to the far side of the thaig. 

Martin turned back to Bethany. “You’ve been bleeding for far too long, we need to look at that now,” he said, taking her by the uninjured arm and guiding her quickly towards the stone dwelling he’d claimed as his own. “Knowing our luck of late, you’ll lose the whole arm.”

“If we were going by our current standards of luck, we’d be lying dead in the snow up above,” she said, trying to ignore the way her voice wobbled. Her feet seemed determined to thwart her too, and when she stumbled she had to admit she was quite grateful for Martin’s hand holding her up.

Martin shoved open the door with his shoulder and stooped slightly to make it through the low frame. Dwarven architecture did not favour a man with Martin’s height: the rooms were just small enough that his head brushed against the ceiling whenever the floor was uneven. “Now, I don’t want you to think that I drag lots of women home with me,” he said deadpan. “This is a first for me. Mostly because I’ve never had a home to drag them to before.”

“Lies,” she said, alarmed to hear the slight rasp in her voice. He pulled out a chair, the stone scraping against the floor, and eased her into it. “I’ve heard the stories about Kinloch Hold from Solona. I know what you lot were like.”

“Messere, you wound me,” he said, rummaging through the chest at the foot of his bed for his supplies. “You besmirch my gentle name.”

“I’m quite happy to wound you if you keep up that act.”

She saw him smirk. “And here I thought flirting in the tower was odd. You wardens are a bizarre lot.”

She laughed, the sound trailing off abruptly as she winced when it jolted her arm, sharp pain shooting down to her elbow and along her collarbone. “This is going to be more difficult than I anticipated,” she admitted.

“You don’t say?” Martin said, dragging a stool up to sit in front of her; he set a bowl of water and a knife on the ground at their feet. “Here, let me help. Maker’s Breath, you’d think you’d never been injured before from the way you’re pouting.”

“Let’s shove an arrow through your shoulder and see if you’re smiling at the end of it,” she snapped.

“No, see, I’m sensible enough to dodge when people try to shoot me,” he said, smiling slightly. He supported her bad arm at the elbow. “Pull your other arm out first, if you can.”

“And yet you keep letting Cayhla punch you,” she said, grunting from the pain in her side as she tried to wriggle her other arm free of the tunic. It wasn’t easy, and Martin had to take hold of the sleeve to help her pull free. 

“That’s different, she has sibling privileges.” They got her uninjured arm free and pulled the tunic up and over her head, and then Martin carefully slid it down the bad arm. Bethany couldn’t help the little cry she made as the blood soaked fabric pulled at the wound. “Hey, shh, it’s okay. It won’t be that bad.”

“You’re supposed to say that,” she choked, swallowing back the sudden flood of tears that burned at her eyes. The exhaustion was getting worse, and every little touch seemed determined to irritate and discomfort her, rather than soothe. She wanted to swat his hands away and just lie down to sleep somewhere cool and dark. 

“Perhaps. I’ll try and be careful my dear.”

She let the endearment go without comment, too distracted by the pain to care one way or the other.

The blood from the wound had soaked all along her side, and her undershirt was utterly ruined. The arrow had torn clean through it, but the blood had glued it to the skin, and she had to bite her lip to keep from crying out as Martin used the knife to cut the fabric, dabbing at the wound with a rag soaked in the warm water. It took him some time to peel it away, and as hard as she tried she couldn’t stop the tears from slipping free in the end. 

“There we go,” he said gently, when the wound was finally exposed. “It’s not too bad. It looks like it was a clean shot, and we got most of it out while we were on the mountain. Plus the cold should hopefully discourage any sort of infection from setting in.”

She chewed on her lip, staring at the wall over his shoulder while he worked. “How many times have you _actually_ performed field surgery?” she asked, frustrated by the stammer in her voice.

“Well, I did help in the clean-up of Kinloch Hold during Uldred’s rebellion, but I was only a lad,” he said absently, focused on her shoulder instead. She felt the gentle tingle of healing magic as his mana began to pour into the wound. His fingers were soft; she was expecting calluses. Of course he hadn’t led the hard life she had; the life of a Circle mage was decidedly uneventful in comparison to hers. 

She wondered what he would make of the calluses on her fingers, or the scars on her body. 

The door groaned and Cayhla slipped inside, her expression dark. She watched the proceedings in silence, before taking a spot on the low bed on the opposite wall.

Martin’s fingers were gentle as he probed at the injury; Bethany winced and turned her head further away. “Nearly done,” he said, the magic in her flesh beginning to feel like pins and needles as the tissue fused back together. There was a hint of weariness in his voice, something that hadn’t been there earlier, and she glanced back at him. There were tiny creases around his eyes as he focused on her shoulder, his jaw set tightly as he worked furiously to heal her.

Healing was exhausting, she knew. Even the basics left her utterly drained, so she couldn’t imagine what it felt like to encourage a body to move and heal and come back to life beneath your hands. There was great joy and satisfaction to be had, for sure; she’d always wondered if it was worth the sacrifice.

Eventually he sighed, and took his hand away, flexing his fingers as if they were cramped. “It’ll scar,” he warned, wiping the blood away with the wet rag, “and it might ache in the cold, but that’ll be the worst of it.”

“We’re _lucky_ that Martin is such a talented healer,” Cayhla said flatly, her irritation clearly obvious.

Bethany couldn’t be bothered starting an argument. “Lucky indeed,” she said wearily, stretching the injured limb. There was still a fierce ache that stretched down her ribs, but the worst of it was gone. She could at least move it without too much irritation. “What do you want, Cayhla?”

“We need to talk.”

“Obviously. Otherwise you wouldn’t be here.”

“You’ve endangered all of us by bringing that woman here,” Cayhla said. “Did you even stop to think about the repercussions of such a decision?”

“In fact I did, whether you’re willing to believe me or not.” Martin offered her a spare shirt, and though it seemed the size of a tent to her, she slipped it on. She tugged off her ruined breast band and cast it with the rest of the bloodied rags on the ground; she frowned at Martin when he offered her a sling, but he was equally good at staring matches having grown up with a sibling, and she grouchily conceded the point. As he stood behind her fastening it about her neck she said “I deemed it far more sensible to bring her here and discuss it as a group than to kill her without thought.”

“We did discuss it as a group, and you’d agreed to kill her.”

“That was before I knew who she was,” Bethany countered.

Martin sat back down on the stool. “Yes, I’m curious about that. You haven’t given your reasons for how you knew her yet, or how you knew she was an agent.”

Bethany sighed. “It’s... complicated.”

“It invariably is. You seem fond of her.”

Fond was a strange word for the complicated feelings Leliana roused within her. “I knew her when I was a girl. Before the Blight. She was a Sister at the Lothering Chantry, at a time when I badly needed guidance and support.”

“You were Andrastian? Forgive me, but you seem very... irreligious, to my mind.”

Bethany’s lips twisted unhappily. “I never found the answers I needed in my faith. I was confused, and hurting, because my magic never seemed to bring anything but heartache and anxiety for my family. It kept them on the run long after they should have just settled down and built a life for themselves. For a time, I thought that maybe the Chant had the answers I needed about magic and being faithful and leading a dutiful life...” She trailed off, painful memories burning within her. “I was thoroughly wrong on that front.”

She saw Martin and Cayhla glance at each other, and she knew their assessment of her had changed yet again. Whether it was for better or for worse, she couldn’t tell and she wasn’t interested. “That doesn’t explain how you knew she was an agent,” Cayhla said.

“Marian told me.”

“Your sister?”

“Yes. She met her, in the weeks before the mess in Kirkwall,” she said quietly. “Leliana didn’t make any sort of indication that she remembered Marian, but Marian remembered her. And when I next saw my sister it was, well... during the mess in Kirkwall. We had few chances to talk given the circumstances, but she did mention the encounter. Leliana introduced herself as an agent of the Divine, and Marian later learned that she was the Right Hand. So not only is she a spy, but she’s second only to the Divine herself.”

Martin cursed and looked away, his fingers shredding the rag in his hands. 

Bethany felt so hollow, like her chest had been emptied out and then closed back up again. “So we can’t kill her,” she whispered, staring at the wall and pretending there weren’t tears burning at her eyes again. “We can’t even keep her here. We have to let her go.”

“Maybe nobody knows she’s here,” Martin said futilely, but she could tell he didn’t believe it even as he was saying it. 

“Someone will know,” she whispered. “And if she doesn’t return, they’ll come for her.”

And destroy everything they’d worked so hard to build.

***

She couldn’t sleep. 

She wanted to blame the pain in her arm, and that certainly didn’t make it any easier, but she knew it wasn’t the truth. She tossed and turned for hours, unable to break her mind free of thoughts of Leliana. 

Leliana as she remembered her in Lothering, the friendly and passionate young Sister with a deep sadness in her eyes. Leliana as her sister described her, full of zest and confidence as she faced off with one of the most terrifying women in Thedas. Leliana as she was now, the weary woman still consumed with such zeal that it drove her to the ends of the earth in search of a ghost. 

She was older than she remembered- they both were, a stupid point, it had been more than a decade since she’d seen her- but it was a shock to see her like this. Her hair was longer and more than a little grey in places, and there were lines on her face that had not been there when they were young. But there was still laughter in her eyes, a softness that all the years had not burned away.

It made her heart ache unpleasantly to dwell on it. It made her resentful, that she should retain such light in her, while Bethany had all but lost hers.

Giving up all pretence of sleep, she threw aside her blankets and clambered out of bed, cursing the ache in her arm. She pulled on her trousers, awkwardly lacing them one handed, and padded on silent feet out into the thaig’s main chamber. It was early, the sun still a few hours away from rising, and nearly everyone had gone to bed. She knew that were she to look, she’d see the sentries guarding the main path, and the two side tunnels that led out into the depths of the Deep Roads. But without looking, it was almost as if she was alone.

There was something comforting in that. It had been a long time since she had had the chance to be alone. 

The stone was cold beneath her feet but she ignored it. She made her way over to the prison cell and stood staring at the door, her hand hovering over the lever. For long minutes she stood there, indecision rippling through her as the cold seeped up through her legs. She was shivering by the time her fingers closed around the mechanism, and there were tears on her cheeks when she pulled it. 

It grated appalling loud in the silence of the night, and she winced. There was no chance that Leliana would have slept through it, a suspicion that was confirmed a few moments later when a voice in the back of the cell called sleepily “Who is there?” There was a scrabbling noise and a moment later Leliana appeared in the small pool of light, her hair askew and her expression confused.

“Bethany?” she said, rubbing sleep from her eyes. “What are you doing?”

Bethany felt her heart lurch again, her pulse pounding painfully as she stared at her. She wanted to pretend she was sixteen again, and sit at her feet while Leliana sang softly and braided her hair. She wanted to be that girl again, innocent and stupid and naive about the world, untroubled by darkspawn and war and nightmares. She wanted to have someone touch her, however briefly, and smile in genuine affection.

Leliana dragged too many things out of the dark places of her heart.

“I have a chance to be happy here,” she said quietly. “To have a home, and maybe a family. Please don’t take that away from me.”

Leliana seemed to sense the gravity of the moment, for she didn’t laugh at such a foolish request. “I have no interest in taking it from you,” Leliana said softly.

“But you have a duty. You have to report where you’ve been.”

“I do.”

Bethany swallowed down her unhappiness, the wildly conflicting emotions within her. “I can’t allow that,” she whispered.

And she closed the door.


	12. Leliana

**9:41 Mid Winter**

_Was only adding frost to snow,  
As gilt to gold that wouldn’t show_

Leliana spent several days in the cell, and no amount of yelling or threatening or pleading or cajoling could summon Bethany back to her. Someone- and she did not know if it was Bethany, and she couldn’t honestly say in her heart if she thought the warden would even care enough about her to do so- was kind enough to furnish her with a blanket, and a fresh set of clothes; food was delivered regularly, and although it was a little sparse it was always fresh and relatively tasty. She never went hungry, and she was not desperately cold. The cell was bare, and the ground made a poor bed, but she’d slept in worse places.

In all regards she was well treated, except that no one was willing to speak to her about her imprisonment, or allow her to argue her case. Or free her, it seemed.

And Bethany did not return to the cell.

It was vexing, to say the least. She spent her time in the cell in prayer and song and exercise, chatting to Aradan through the bars whenever he was in a mood to talk. His moods were peculiar, not that she blamed him- if she’d been betrayed by her companions, she doubted that she’d be in any sort of sociable mood.

And then that very thought made her laugh at herself, because of course she _had_ been betrayed by her very closest companion, and left for dead in the hands of vile men. It had taken time to heal, and a lot of patience on the part of those forced to endure her company in the months afterwards. There were still nightmares to be had, and trust was not the easiest thing in the world for her. It still made a dull ache burn in her stomach, remembering the horror, remembering the dungeon...

She shook her head, and gritted her teeth. Those memories were best left in the past, unacknowledged. She had grown so much since then, found a better path- she had found faith, and the contentment that such faith gave her. She had found friends, and lovers. She had found adventure and terror; she had visited lands and seen things she could never have imagined before. The path she had walked was rocky, and she had crawled on her hands and knees for a time, broken and bloodied, but she had made it in one piece.

She wouldn’t have found her purpose without Marjolaine’s betrayal. It didn’t stop it from hurting any less, knowing that, but it made it easier to tolerate on the bad days.

And so she couldn’t blame Aradan for his terse silence, or the occasional snarled answer. She knew how deep the pain could run and how long the wounds could lay open and raw.

By her rough estimate, she had been in the cell for five days when the door opened again. It was not an unusual occurrence- it opened several times every day to allow someone to pass her food while closely guarded. No amount of pleasant chatter on her part or direct questioning could induce her captors to speak to her- every attempt was met with stony silence.

So when the door mechanism groaned again, stone scraping roughly against stone, she didn’t leap to her feet immediately. Even the most faithful had a limit to their patience, and the relentless silence of her captors had worn away at hers like water over stone. She sat by the far wall, a terse smile on her lips as she readied herself to thank them for the meal she already had no interest in.

The smile froze when she turned her head towards the door and saw not another tight lipped unnamed mage, but Bethany standing in the doorway, stiff and cold and coiled as tightly as a spring. Leliana lurched to her feet immediately, brushing her hands over the front of her clothes out of instinct, brushing away the dust as if her appearance mattered.

It didn’t, she told herself; and even if it did, the gesture was pointless. She had been sleeping in the dirt for days now without a chance to bathe. Plus it was dimly lit in the cell, so it wasn’t as if Bethany would have a chance to even see the dirt on-

_Maker, just stop._

She clenched her fists at her sides to stop herself from fussing. “Captain Hawke,” she said respectfully, “I did not expect to see you again.”

Bethany snorted, a sound that seemed like it was trying to be a laugh and lacked the humour to do so. “I’m not interested in observing formalities,” she said, stepping properly inside the cell. Unable to help herself, Leliana’s gaze flickered instantly towards the open door, but Bethany appeared to have the eyes of her namesake. “It won’t do you any good,” she said flatly. “Even if the impossible were to occur and you were to get past me, there is an armed guard outside waiting to intercept you. And beyond that- well, I’m sure I don’t need to point out that you are in the middle of a hostile settlement. You will not leave the thaig today.”

The way she finished on _‘today’_ seemed somewhat heartening. “So have you come to discuss my departure for _another_ day, perhaps?”

“Unlikely,” she said bluntly, crossing her arms stiffly. Her movements were awkward, her body all severe angles and unforgiving lines. There was no life in her eyes, only darkness and loss- the light had gone out of her completely. “I am still more inclined to have you killed. The mountains are treacherous, after all, and sometimes those inexperienced with the land and the snow have been known to succumb to the elements.”

An open threat. Not precisely what she had hoped for when she next saw Bethany. “You would kill an old friend out of spite?” she asked carefully, trying to be present a cheerful front.

“I would kill the king himself if it meant keeping this community safe,” Bethany said flatly, and Leliana honestly couldn’t say if it felt like a lie or not.

She made a few tentative steps forward, tucking her hair out of the way of her eyes. It was interesting to note how Bethany’s gaze seemed to follow her fingers, desperation flickering in her face like a guttering candle. “That is a bold claim,” she said mildly, “and not precisely a sensible one for a Warden sworn to neutrality to make.”

“The Wardens are no more neutral than the Chantry is,” Bethany spat. She hadn’t reacted to Leliana creeping forward, which she took to be a good sign. “And having seen Solona in action, you of all people should realise that.”

“Perhaps Solona was the exception, not the rule.”

Bethany threw up her hands in disgust. “If you are going to play at being naive and contrary, I have no interest in talking to you.” She turned to leave, and Leliana felt her heart lurch into her chest in a panic.

“Bethany-”

“ _What_ , Leliana?” she snarled, rounding on her. She crowded her, lurching in close as if she meant to grab at her and then thought better of it. Her cheeks reddened even as her eyes grew hard. “What candied lies do you want to spoon-feed me now? At least have the _respect_ to treat me like the woman that I am- not the impressionable girl with stars in her eyes. I am a Captain of the Wardens and I would _appreciate_ it if you would have the decency to treat me like one.”

The temptation to throw her words back in her face was immense- despite what she claimed, Bethany was absolutely interested in standing on formalities if it suited her purposes. For Leliana to call her Captain as a greeting was an insult, but for her to forget the title when in the midst of an argument? Double standards on her part, apparently, and a clumsy decision by Bethany to undermine her at best. 

She tried to take a different tact. Her expression softened, and she reached forward cautiously. Bethany did not skitter backwards, but the tension in her body rocketed quite noticeably upwards as Leliana laid her hand on the curve of her shoulder. “It’s not too late, Bethany,” she said soothingly. The heat coming from her was immense, and her body was so locked up with stress that it was like laying her fingers against a stone. “Things are not irredeemable- we can still fix this.”

She realised immediately what a poor choice of words it was. For a brief moment, something akin to horrified betrayal flickered across Bethany’s expression, before it solidified into dumbstruck fury. “Fix this?” Bethany said incredulously. “ _Fix this?_ For the first time in my _life_ , I do something for _myself_ , something that makes me _happy_ , and the first thing you suggest is that we need to _fix it?_ ”

Leliana tried to step closer, tried to touch her placatingly. “That is not what I meant, dear heart,” she said quickly, running her hand down her arm. “Of course I would not ask you to sacrifice your happiness-”

“ _You just did!_ ”

“I chose my words poorly,” Leliana said, trying to regain her balance in the conversation. “If you would just let me-”

“How _dare_ you presume to lecture to me, when I have given so much of myself for the sake of others!”

“That’s not-”

“I have done _everything_ ever asked of me,” she hissed, her eyes burning bright with furious tears. When one of them slipped down onto her cheek, Leliana couldn’t stop herself from reaching forward to brush it away- but Bethany lurched violently out of her grasp, dashing the offending tear away herself and making sure she was out of Leliana’s reach. “I have given myself heart and soul to the Chant of Light, and I have accepted my place as a warden, desperately trying to find the path the Maker wanted me to walk. I have paid my tithes, attended _every_ sermon I could even at the risk of exposing myself. I accepted a life of blood and death and claustrophobia and darkness, because I thought it was what would make the world accept my gift. I have cried myself to sleep _so many times_ I have lost count, praying in the darkness that it would all be a bad dream, that I would wake the next morning to find my magic was only a nightmare.”

Leliana felt as if her heart was going to break, listening to the utter loathing in Bethany’s voice as the hateful tirade went on and on. “My dear Bethany,” she began, but the other woman cut her off.

“And it never grew any easier, it never grew into love in my heart- every day I wondered why the Maker would hate me, when I had showed him nothing but love and devotion. I was certain that if I was the right amount of faithful, he would lift the burden from my heart, and grant me peace of mind.”

“You were young, and troubled,” Leliana said weakly, trying to find something logical to say to the bitter outpouring. “We would all of us be liars and fools if we tried to claim we had never harboured doubts in our hearts.”

“But there is a difference between being hesitant in your faith, and wondering if your mere existence is a blight upon the world,” Bethany said mockingly. “Every week as I sought for answers, sitting and listening to the words of the Maker and the prophet, all I heard was how _wretched_ I was, how _sinful_ I was, how _loathsome_.”

“They were not referring to you, dear heart, but to those men and women who would use their gift for perverted purposes.”

Bethany actually snarled at her. _Snarled_ , like a rabid dog. “How can you be so naive as to believe that? You cannot look me in the eye and say that it is anything but a condemnation of magic. Why else would the Chantry demand that children be torn from their mother’s arms, threatening the family with death and excommunication? Why else would they lock us away in prison towers, away from the sunshine and the world, guarding us around the clock?”

“It is as much for your own protection as-”

“Hah!” The tears were sliding down her face faster than she could wipe them away. “Either you are incredibly stupid, or you think I am.”

Leliana swallowed uncomfortably. It had been a long time since she had encountered so much anger. “I do not think you are stupid,” she whispered.

Bethany’s laugh was hollow. “No? I’m certain I could change your mind in a heartbeat.”

“You don’t have to-”

“I had already made up my mind to go to the Gallows,” Bethany said bitterly, cutting her off again. “I couldn’t stand it any longer. I wanted so badly to do the right thing- by my family, by the Maker- that I was willing to sacrifice my freedom and my happiness. What does that say to you, what I thought that the Maker thinks of me, that I was ready to throw myself into that pit merely to placate my conscience?” 

Maker, how in the Void was she to answer that? Any answer she gave would damn her further. “I think you were a confused and lost young woman,” she said carefully, “grieving the loss of your brother and your home, alone and frightened in a hostile city.”

“So you think I was stupid,” Bethany spat.

“I did not say that. It was a brave decision you made, doing your best to honour your family and your faith-”

“I would have died in there.”

“You don’t know that. Events could have played out entirely differently were you there to provide counsel to Orsino, or even to Meredith. Just your presence would have been enough to change relationships, power imbalances- a hundred tiny things in a single day would have been different thanks to your presence. Over seven years, that is a mighty impact indeed.”

Bethany stared at her incredulously. “What a marvellous world you must live in, to believe something so deluded and so patently false,” she spat. She was so angry that she was shaking. “To believe that such a catastrophe could be averted by a girl, to place the onus of responsibility _on my shoulders alone?_ ”

Maker’s Breath, did she purposefully set out to think the worst of her? “I do not mean that at all! I simply meant that, if the Maker had intended for you to find a home in the Gallows, it would have been by his design and he would have had a purpose in store for you. Given that you did not find your home there, he clearly had other plans.”

“What, he planned death and disease for me instead? He thought, ‘ _what am I to do with Bethany Hawke, a mage is only good for so many things after all. Perhaps a life of darkness will at least get her out of the way. Mages are responsible for this mess anyway’._ ”

The hatred and the bitterness pouring from her mouth were astonishing; Leliana could not reconcile the broken woman before her with the bright young girl from Lothering. “You would put words into the Maker’s mouth?”

“Well _you_ would,” Bethany snarled in retaliation, crowding her again. “Everyone knows about your precious visions, so I were to guess at his grand plans for me it would hardly be any worse than your lies!”

That set a fire beneath her. “ _Lies?_ ” Leliana snapped, poking Bethany fiercely in the chest. “How _dare_ you question me! It is not enough that I gave up everything to follow Solona? That I opened myself up to ridicule, risking excommunication and death- and _worse_ in the Deep Roads?”

“You hardly ventured into the Deep Roads at all,” Bethany said caustically, grabbing at her wrist to stop her poking her, “and we both know that. Solona left you in Orzammar. Don’t claim an experience that was never yours!”

“How would you know? It wasn’t like there was one single journey, done and dusted in a day or two,” Leliana countered furiously. She shoved at Bethany, but the warden was not to be moved; her hand tightened almost painfully around her wrist, callused fingers rubbing on her skin. “It took _months_ beneath the mountains. Do not try to make this a competition in suffering, Captain!”

“There is no competition here, Sister,” Bethany retaliated mockingly. She leaned in close, her eyes cruel. “The Maker still holds you close to his heart,” she breathed, and Leliana felt the hot puff of air against her lips, “and keeps you in a life of comfort and love. He has no such time for one such as I.”

Leliana hesitated for a long moment, determined not to glance down at Bethany’s mouth. “You are speaking in nonsense,” she said finally, firmly. “You have spent too long in the tunnels, and it has addled your wits.”

“You would try to convince me that he _does_ care about me?”

Leliana stared at her incredulously. “Of _course_ he does- the Maker cares for all of his children!”

Bethany sneered in response, closer than Leliana remembered her being. Close enough that as one of them breathed out, the other could breathe in the scent of her. “You live a deluded and fanciful life. Mages, elves, the poor, the sick, the downtrodden and helpless- the Maker does not care for _anyone_. He has abandoned us, Leliana, and has as much care for us as we do for the ants beneath our feet.”

“How can you have fallen so low?” Leliana asked disbelievingly. She couldn’t help herself- the fingers on her free hand came up to Bethany’s face, caressing hesitantly along the line of her jaw, as if she expected her to shatter beneath her touch. “Where is the girl that I knew? Where is the heart so full of love and joy and delight that it seemed it would never go out?”

“A heart can _die_ , Leliana,” Bethany said bitterly. “When it is denied hope, when the light is gone- no one can live without hope. And when each day goes by with nothing but darkness, with no light in the distance, no chance of joy or love… there is no way to live without letting a part of you die. It is the only way to survive.”

Leliana couldn’t bear it any longer. “So am I to act as your private confessional now?” she asked, unable to keep the cynicism from her voice. “Was that your purpose in imprisoning me- to absolve your guilty conscience in the absence of a Revered Mother?”

Startled, Bethany jerked abruptly backwards, her eyes wide. “What? Maker, _no_ -”

“You told me you could not keep me prisoner here, either logically or in good faith. And yet here I remain. Projecting your issues with your faith onto me is not going to resolve anything, least of all your foolish decision to imprison me here!” Leliana snarled. “Kill me or release me, but Maker’s Breath, just make up your mind!”

It was sudden. And to be quite honest, perhaps not quite so unexpected once she stopped to think about it afterwards. But Bethany Hawke, Captain Bethany Hawke of the Grey Wardens, bright little Sunshine from Lothering and darkly bitter Starlight, made a snarled sound of frustration as she shoved her roughly backwards against the wall and smashed her face against hers. 

It was a kiss fuelled by desperation, and anger. It was a kiss fuelled by panic, and frustration and longing and years of broken hope. It was not particularly gentle, and the way her fingers dug into the front of her jerkin was more reminiscent of claws than of a lover’s touch.

Bethany tasted of snow, and the tingle of the magic that felt the way the air did in the hours before a storm. The salt from her tears was a third layer, bitter and heartbreaking. She was wildness and magic and bitterness, all in a single kiss.

And she did not stop her. She could not, even if she had wanted to. 

She surprised herself when she realised she did not want to.

They came apart slowly, trembling, breathing rapidly as they stared in stunned silence. Bethany looked surprised, and vulnerable- so very vulnerable. Her lip quivered, as if she meant to speak, and then she lurched backwards, her expression morphing into humiliation and anger.

“Bethany,” Leliana began, reaching for her quickly.

But she was gone, staggering to the door and slamming it closed instantly, the stone scraping roughly on stone with an echoing boom to remind her of her captivity.

Silence hung in the air, thick and uncomfortable.

There was a shifting sound that knocked her back to the present and out of her stunned thoughts, closely followed by someone clearing their throat. 

“If you were attempting to seduce her to gain our freedom, you did a terrible job of it.” Aradan sounded amused, a hint of mockery lacing the words.

“Shut up,” she snapped, trying to ignore the way her voice broke on such a simple phrase. She touched her fingers to her mouth, not quite sure whether from regret at her outburst or to feel the tingle that lingered on her lips. 

Magic that tasted like the strength and cruelty of a winter storm. A woman that tasted of the chill of the ice and the bitterness of desperate regret.

She saw the woman she could have been after Marjolaine’s betrayal, had she not had someone there to help pick up the pieces. She saw the path she could have walked, if she had found nothing but ridicule and rejection after speaking of her blessed dream. She had been lucky enough to have both Dorothea and Solona, but… what if she had had neither?

A chill ran down her spine, an uncomfortable prickle of insight. Bethany was the woman she could have been, save for the love and support of two women. Bethany, beautiful and bitter and broken, who by her own admittance had let hope die merely to survive.

And that confession hurt Leliana a great deal more than she had expected.


	13. Bethany

**9:41 Mid Winter**

_A brush had left a crooked stroke  
Of what was either cloud or smoke_

Stupid blighted _fool_.

She dashed from the cell and nearly ran into Lynelle, her staff at the ready as she waited to see who it was fleeing in a rush. The guardswoman blinked at her dishevelled appearance, lowering her staff quickly so as not to jab her in the hip.

“Bethany, are you-?”

“Not now,” she snapped, horrified to hear herself stutter. From behind her, she could hear Leliana calling her name, could hear the stunned confusion in her voice, and _oh Maker_ she just couldn’t bear it. She snatched forcefully at the door mechanism and tried not to flinch as it boomed shut on her heels, her eyes closed as tears of regret and shame burned and threatened to spill forth yet again.

Maker, she was such a desperate fool.

She stomped quickly in the other directions, the turmoil inside of her nothing short of a maelstrom, seething with despair and hope and anger and lust and defiance. Her lips tingled, the taste of Leliana lingering on her tongue.

She had kissed an Agent of the Divine.

Wretched, pathetic _fool_.

“Bethany?”

“ _Not now!_ ”

She was cracking wide open, she could feel it. She felt a hysterical, panicked giggle bubbling up within her and she wanted to run and collapse and her head was awhirl-

“ _Bethany!_ ” Lynelle snagged her around the arm, dragging her into a gap between two of the little stone buildings. “Breathe, girl, before you send yourself into conniptions.”

Maker, it was too much. The refugees were depending on her, and she had betrayed her fellow wardens, and she had kidnapped an Avvar, and kissed an Agent. She had too many battles to fight; she needed to draw a line in the sand and stand by it, fierce in her convictions. She was crumbling, drowning under the weight of so many responsibilities.

No wonder her sister had been insufferable at times. She understood a little of what Marian had struggled under for years; she’d only been doing it for a few blighted weeks and she was already ready to break.

Lynelle’s hand loosened on her arm, and she slumped against the closest wall, sliding down until she was pressed against it in a crouch. She was trembling violently, broken little half sobs staggering out of her like hiccups. There was a creak of leather, and she felt a hand on her knee; Bethany did not have to ask if Lynelle had overhead the argument, or if she had guessed at what had caused her to flee so suddenly. As if she hadn’t made it desperately obvious, retreating like the coward that she was.

Lynelle’s voice was mild, no hint of accusation in her tone. “I will not tell Cayhla, if that is what you fear,” she said softly.

Bethany’s sobs turned hysterical for a moment, jostling with laughter. “I am afraid of so many things,” she choked out, “and Cayhla knowing of yet another moment of weakness on my part is hardly high on the list.”

“Perhaps. But it is just another burden stacked upon you, and one you need not worry about.”

Bethany couldn’t look at her; she did her best to catch her breath and stop the tears, but every time she thought she was done a new batch started. She felt so ill, the sobs wracking through her so forcefully that it hurt to breathe.

Lynelle did not say anything for a while, simply crouched down by her, her thumb brushing gently over her knee. Bethany didn’t know whether she wanted to shove her away and spare herself any further embarrassment, or whether she wanted to latch on desperately to that simple act of kindness and acceptance.

“We take love where we find it,” Lynelle said quietly, her voice sympathetic but sad. “It is a hard truth, one that every mage in the Circles must learn.”

“I am not a Circle mage,” Bethany said stiffly, “and nor am I interested in a relationship with someone so contrary to our safety and our security.”

“She obviously means a lot to you, or you would have killed her by now.”

“She means nothing to me,” Bethany snapped, willing the tears to dry up and her heart to turn to stone. “Nothing but regret and memories of a foolish girl who believed every lie that was offered to her.”

“I do not think you could ever be foolish,” Lynelle said. “Foolhardy, perhaps, but not foolish. You have done too much good for all of us, and there is too much good in your heart, for you to be foolish.”

Bethany couldn’t help but laugh once, though it was almost a whimper. “But do they not say that love makes fools of us all?”

“It is not foolish to love. We should not be shamed for wanting to be loved,” Lynelle said. “We who have been denied love in all of its aspects should not have to excuse ourselves for loving desperately and passionately.”

“And who have you loved, desperately and passionately, that you would think it appropriate to encourage me on a similar path?”

When Lynelle didn’t answer immediately she realised what poor taste it was to throw her comfort back in her face so cruelly. “I’m sorry,” she began stiltedly, still not able to look up and meet her eyes. “That was-”

“It’s alright,” Lynelle said, a little more hesitantly than a moment earlier. “In the Circle, you are given so few opportunities to… love someone. Every moment is precious, even if you know it will be your last together. I have loved twice, and lost both- one to the Harrowing, and one to the nightmares at Kinloch Hold.”

“I… I’m sorry.” She didn’t know what else to say.

Lynelle made a soft noise, the hint of a laugh as it huffed through her nose. “There’s no need to be sorry. Jerone was a Templar, and he was not ready to stand watch in a Harrowing- we both knew it. I think it was the Knight Commander’s hope to separate us, but I do not think he meant to see him dead. Everard was sent to Kinloch Hold after I miscarried, with the lie being that they needed a Senior Enchanter to teach magical history. I do not know whether he suffered or not when Uldred attempted his coup.”

Bethany felt a shiver of horror ripple over her skin, and risked glancing up at her. Lynelle was smiling, but her eyes were sad. “You just let them take them from you?” she asked incredulously, wiping her nose on the back of her sleeve.

“I didn’t say that I _didn’t_ fight,” she said, “but it’s interesting that you would ask that question. You think that someone in love should fight for the person they love, regardless of circumstance? Despite the vast and often insurmountable objections in their path, you think they should fight for one another?”

She realised too late what point Lynelle was driving at, and scowled. “Losing the man who fathered your child is entirely different to my foolish obsession with a dangerous woman,” she snapped, her voice still far too wobbly for her own liking. 

“Perhaps not as different as you’d think, Bethany-”

“I care for Martin,” Bethany interjected, desperate to break away from this painful conversation. “And he cares for me.”

“That he does. And he will still be here in a few days, where the Sister may not.”

Bethany’s chest was tight, the pressure and force of her anxiety almost crushing her. “What do you want from me?” she whispered, angry tears building in her eyes again. “Do you want me to fall? Do you want me to make the biggest mistake of my life?”

“Not at all, Bethany,” Lynelle said softly. “I’m trying to _stop you_ from making the biggest mistake of your life. Because nothing will haunt you more than regret.”

“I am fairly certain I have seen things that haunt me more fiercely than regret ever will.”

Lynelle shrugged and patted her on the knee. “You’d know that better than I,” she said mildly, using her staff to help her stand again. She turned as if to leave, and then hesitated. “Actually, one more thing.”

She drew in a deep breath and exhaled slowly, a tiny cloud of frost spilling from her lips. It hung in the air before her, a shimmering mist that defied the natural habit of things and did not disappear from view immediately. Licking her finger, Lynelle dipped it into the cloud as if it were a quill on canvas, and a pattern quickly began to form in the ice crystals. 

It looked like a Tevinter rune, and Bethany frowned as she tried to make it out. Her father had never been hugely descriptive on rune based magic in the years that he had been her teacher, and the wardens didn’t exactly provide extensive and in depth catch up classes for those lacking a formal education. 

“It means silence,” Lynelle said, putting the last little flourish on the design. “It isn’t perfect- mostly it can mute sound, but it will not block it out entirely.”

Bethany stared at her. “Why would you tell me this?” she whispered.

Lynelle looked away, a flicker of guilt in her expression as she smiled. “Because at the very least, I know you’ve got the tools at your disposal to make the right decision- whatever that might be. Even if it’s just locking yourself in your room and screaming your way through a tantrum.”

With that, she turned and slipped through the gap between the buildings, leaving Bethany alone with the most horrifying symbol glittering in the air before her.

Lynelle had said it meant silence. 

But in her heart, it might as well have said temptation.

***

She couldn’t sleep.

Her skin was alive, her blood pounding in her ears. She was restless and irritable, and it felt like the woollen blanket was deliberately brushing against her legs in an overly sensual manner- every time she rolled over to find a more comfortable place to sleep, she shuddered at the sensations.

She couldn’t get Leliana out of her head.

Lynelle’s words had taken root in her brain, twisting around her and taunting her, a temptation she had no place even considering. Even if she had loved a Templar, she didn’t understand the weight of responsibility that Bethany was staggering under right now- she didn’t understand what it meant to sacrifice so much of herself for the greater good. Lynelle and Jerone had had only the two of them to risk, only two lives to gamble in their pursuit of desire and love. 

She didn’t have that luxury. She was a traitor to the wardens, a rogue apostate, a champion of runaway mages. She was the sister of a wanted fugitive and cousin to one of the most powerful women in the world.

She was lucky to even have the _potential_ for love with Martin- another mage who understood the dangers they faced, even from within themselves, and who appreciated her desire for freedom and autonomy. A man she might be able to build a life with, might be able to become a part of his family.

Old longings rose within her, long abandoned dreams of home and hearth, of children clutching at her apron strings and a warm body beside her in the dark of night, someone to love and to hold and to laugh with. Those were dreams that belonged to another woman, a naive girl with no idea how harsh and unforgiving the world could be.

They were dreams of a young girl with her whole life ahead of her, a girl who still had faith in herself and faith in those around her. A young girl who blushed when the pretty young Sister at the Lothering Chantry winked at her during the sermons, who dreamed of dancing at grand balls in the Amell estate with handsome men, who thought that maybe there was a place for magic to sit alongside faith in her heart.

How wrong she had been. 

She brushed away angry tears with the back of her hand and lurched into a sitting position, swinging her legs over the edge of the low stone bed frame. It was cold out of the blankets, the night air almost painfully brisk against her bare legs. 

Gritting her teeth, she reached for her trousers and boots, tugging them on haphazardly before stumbling out of bed and heading for the door.

It was late- late enough for the lights around the settlement to have been dimmed for the night, so there was only the faint hint of moonlight bouncing off the pool to light her way. And it was cold, the sort of sharp and crystalline cold so fierce that it felt like tiny needles against her bare skin. There was steam curling from the surface of the pool in lazy tendrils, and her feet ached from the vicious chill burning straight through the soles of her shoes.

_Maker, what am I doing?_

In a daze, she found herself standing across the way from the cells, staring at Leliana’s door. She glanced around, her skin crawling with fear and anticipation, paranoid that someone would see her.

But the thaig was quiet, not a soul within sight. She was alone with her desires, alone with the anger and the longing. She was a shape in the night, nothing more than a lost soul in the darkness.

She crept slowly towards the door, hesitating with each step, and then brushed the tips of her fingers cautiously against the stone. It was cold to the touch, and despite the years it had weathered, it was as smooth as polished marble. She stood there, fingers pressed firmly to the rock, frustration and hope warring within her.

She bowed her head, trembling from the force of the battle in her heart, her fingers drumming a nervous tattoo. When she felt the ripple of magic over her skin, she glanced up- to see she had, in her agitation, already traced the symbol that Lynelle had gifted her with. The rune was clearly visible in the darkness, thin lines glowing faintly on the stone. 

Shaking, she licked her lips once, hesitating before she whispered “ _Leliana?_ ”

Her voice was muted, as if it was coming from deep underwater. Steeling herself, she tried again, doing her best to speak at a normal volume. “Leliana?”

The same result. Her voice was distant, muffled- she suspected that the only reason she could hear herself at all was merely from the vibrations as the word rolled over her tongue. 

So Lynelle had spoken truly- it was a rune of silencing. Which meant that now she could enter the cell and speak to Leliana. Clear the air between them. Silence the demons in her head that loved and despised her in equal measures.

Taking a deep breath and holding it, she brought her hand to rest on the lever for the door; she hesitated for a long moment, trying to find the courage to continue.

And then she bit into her lip and drove it down. 

Where normally there would be a cacophony of noise, stone crushed against stone in a sound not really all that pleasant to listen to, there was almost nothing. A rumble, like the subtle echo of a rockfall miles and miles away, and then the door was yawning open, a black hole in the wall and somewhere in that blackness... Leliana, hopefully asleep.

Almost as if she were in a dream, she stepped over the stone lip of the door, blinking to let her eyes adjust to the darkness. 

“I was not expecting you again so soon,” came a voice to her left, and she jerked violently to the side, her heart leaping into her throat. Leliana’s hand snatched at her arm, preventing her from flailing backwards onto her ass.

She pulled herself free the moment she had her balance back; she lied to herself and pretended that she couldn’t still feel the heat of Leliana’s palm against her arm, where only the thin fabric of her nightshirt had kept them apart. “Maker, Leliana, you scared the life out of me!” she hissed.

There was just enough light for her to make out her face, or at least the hint of it, and she saw the wry smile that crept over her face. “One would expect it to be the other way around,” she said quietly, and Bethany couldn’t help but notice that her voice was at a normal pitch. Either the spell had a much shorter range than she would have liked, or her moment of panic had dispelled the enchantment. “Since you are the one sneaking into cells in the dead of night with magic to swallow your every sound.”

Bethany scowled at her, trying not to blush and failing at it. “I use what tools are at my disposal when dealing with a dangerous enemy,” she hissed under her breath. “You would do the same.”

“Perhaps. Perhaps not. What are you doing here, Bethany?”

Bethany opened her mouth to snarl a response, but no retort came. She stared at the woman in front of her, mostly masked by shadows, waiting patiently for her answer. She made no attempt to escape or overpower her, nor to confuse and aggravate her. 

The anger inside of her fizzled and died, leaving only desperation and grief in its place.

“You made me believe in something I had no place in,” she whispered. “You gave me hope, when I had no right to hope.”

Leliana’s expression softened in the dim light. “Everyone has a right to hope, Bethany,” she replied softly.

“No, that’s just it,” she said, shaking her head. “We _don’t_. So many of us do not, and for so long I refused to believe that. I clung to the idea that I might one day have a family, and someone who loved me freely and openly. I thought that if I was good enough, my magic would no longer be an issue. But it is always my burden to bear, and always marks me as undesirable in some way.”

“You deserve to be loved, dear one.”

Bethany shook her head furiously, as if the motion would convince her of her own stupidity. “You make me feel weak. You make me want to be someone I’m not, someone who died a long time ago.”

“You are not weak- Maker’s Breath, you are one of the strongest women I have ever encountered.” Leliana had come forward at last, still not quite free of the shadows that cloaked her. She took one of Bethany’s hands in hers and lifted it to her lips. Bethany did not have it in her to stop her. “You are so strong, Bethany. So very strong.” Leliana’s other hand rose up to her face, brushing the hair away from her eyes, her fingers brushing softly over her skin, not even lingering over the hideous scar beside her eye. “You are nothing short of miraculous.” 

“It is too much,” she whispered, tears pricking at her eyes. Leliana’s lips were perfect, soft kisses pressed to each knuckle, to every line on her palm. “I cannot be that person.”

“You already are.”

She knew she was crying again, but it didn’t matter, because Leliana was kissing her, the kisses moving beyond her wrist and up to her face, soft and sweet as they pattered against her jaw, her chin, her nose. When she could stand it no longer, she tilted her head and caught Leliana’s mouth with her own, pouring all of her desperation and frustration and longing into that one kiss.

Leliana took it in her stride, her hand sliding into Bethany’s hair and the other slipping around the curve of her hip, tugging her closer. With each frantic stroke of her tongue, Leliana matched her, teasing her to open further, gently soothing her even as she stoked the fires within her. 

She barely felt the cold- all she could feel was the fire raging in her veins, the desperate need to get closer still, to touch her skin, to crawl inside her. She wanted to forget, for five minutes, that she was Bethany Hawke, apostate and warden and traitor and fugitive. She wanted to just _exist_ for a while, to lay all her responsibilities aside and just... breathe. 

“Relax,” Leliana breathed against her mouth. Her fingers were busy, slowly questing beneath her nightshirt; when Bethany gasped at the first touch against bare skin, Leliana’s lips curved in a smile. 

“I want to,” Bethany whispered urgently.

“It’s okay, just trust me. Let go, my lovely.”

She wanted to; oh Maker, did she ever want to just let go and be free to chase after such a foolish dream. And as Leliana’s fingers danced over her skin, she felt as if she were an instrument, and Leliana the musician, because she so skillfully wrenched breathy moans and sighs from her, even as she fought to keep from making too much noise. 

It was a doomed endeavour, really.

The kisses turned more urgent as the fire built between them, and Bethany did her best to reciprocate with the intoxicating touches. She could feel Leliana trembling, feel the way her skin rippled and shivered at her touch, and she had to hope that meant she was having some small measure of success. Beyond that, it was a little hard to focus- not when Leliana’s hand was teasing at the band of her trousers, fingers dipping beneath almost tauntingly. 

“ _Maker_ ,” she panted, feeling Leliana smile yet again.

“Do you want me to-”

“Maker, _yes!_ ”

“Continue?”

“ _Yes!_ ”

When Leliana’s hand slid beneath her belt, she felt as if she was ready to explode then and there. She was no cringing virgin, not at all, but the other woman just roused something within her, something wild and desperate and frightening. It was temptation, and guilt, and wild reckless abandon. 

And as Leliana’s mouth wandered along the line of her jaw, laying hot, open-mouthed kisses to her skin, she nearly begged for her to go faster. As her fingers made the first teasing dip into the heat between her legs, she felt her knees buckle, and Leliana’s free hand tightened around her waist. 

She was struggling to keep from crying out, panting desperately, when she felt it. It was wretchedly familiar, a sensation that had woken her from slumber, wrenched her from her meals and generally ruined her day a thousand times over in the last ten years.

The tugging in her belly, like a fish hook lodged deep within her.

The nausea.

The crippling, mortifying sense of terror and doom.

And for the first time ever, grief. 

_Darkspawn._

She lurched backwards, out of Leliana’s embrace, every fibre of her being shrieking in protest at the interruption. Leliana let out a noise of surprise, falling almost flat onto her face as her support suddenly vanished. 

Leliana scrambled upwards even as Bethany backed away. “Bethany, my lovely, whatever is the matter?” The confusion in her voice was as endearing as it was heartbreaking.

 _She called me lovely._ “I have to go,” she croaked, the frustration almost swamping her, need and anger and grief and panic and lust and-

_Maker, just stop._

“I have to go,” she repeated desperately, backing away even as Leliana took a step towards her, hand outstretched in appeasement.

“Bethany, what is the matter? If my advances alarmed you at all, I apologise most sincerely, from the depths of my heart. Please, tell me what is the matter, so I may attempt to fix it?”

Bethany felt her heart crack- not break, for it had already shattered long ago, and she had lived with the wounds for so long now. But at Leliana’s plea, she felt a new fissure snake across the battered surface, and she almost reached out and took her hand in hers. 

But the darkspawn could not be denied- the next tug was so strong that her hand instead went to her belly, fighting off the sudden wave of nausea and pain.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered instead, unable to look at her.

And then she fled.

Duty before love. As it always had been, and as it always would be.


	14. Leliana

**9:41 Mid-Winter**

_From north to south across the blue  
A piercing little star was through_

“Bethany!”

Leliana tried to lunge after her, but she was too quick; the stone door thundered shut in her face, and she only just pulled her fingers free in time. The door and the wall were seamless, the ingenuity of dwarven engineering at its most frustrating; she ran her hands over the panel, desperately hoping the door hadn’t latched properly, knowing that she had checked it a dozen times already in the last few days. She was still dazed and tingling, her lips burning from the force of the kisses, and between her legs she throbbed with unsatisfied want.

“Maker take it all!” she cursed, kicking at the door. She remembered too late that she wasn’t wearing boots, and cursed again as her toe crunched against the stone.

“What are you carrying on about now?” Aradan’s voice wafted through between the bars, and he did not sound happy in the slightest. Or sleepy.

Her breath caught in her throat for a moment; surely he hadn’t heard...? “There’s something going on outside,” she said cautiously.

“Darkspawn,” Aradan said petulantly. “I can feel them. I would have said something sooner, but you seemed preoccupied.”

Damn it. He _had_ heard. “Darkspawn absolutely takes priority over sex!” she said, mortified when she felt her cheeks going red. Maker’s Breath, she was a grown woman, not some wilting violet!

“I was worried you might not hear me with Bethany’s thighs covering your ears.”

“ _Oh my word_ , I was _not_... did you just spy on us the entire time?”

“Actually I was doing my best to ignore you, but that was almost impossible.”

Maker, but her cheeks were on _fire_. “Most men enjoy the thought of women together,” she said hotly, to cover her embarrassment.

“Further evidence I suppose that I am not like most men.”

It was sarcastic enough to give her pause. “Do you prefer men?” she blurted out, before common sense could tell her now was neither the time nor the place for such questions.

“I prefer neither, actually, but that’s not precisely your concern or business. And it’s not really going to excuse what I just had to witness, now, is it?”

“We thought you were asleep!”

“Well, even if I was, you were carrying on loudly enough to wake the dead,” he groused. “And Bethany was either rather stalwart in ignoring the pull of the darkspawn, or you provide a marvellous distraction.”

“I am not going to discuss this with you any further; the topic is closed.”

She was saved from further arguments about her inappropriate sexual conduct by the crunch of the door swinging open again, and she scampered out of the way before it slammed into her. She blinked in the light, staring at the face on the other side of the door.

Lasair grinned widely as she stepped into the cell, stooping slightly so that her head didn’t clip the roof. “Ey, you’re a sight,” she said, tossing her a quiver and bow. She caught them out of instinct, gaping stupidly at the weapons in her hands and then back to the younger woman. Lasair laughed at her bewildered expression. “What, they don’t teach you to thank your rescuer? That’s twice now, Lowlander.”

Fumbling for the straps of the quiver, Leliana said “What are you doing here, Lasair?”

She cocked an eyebrow at her. “I thought I was helping you escape, but if it’s that confusing to you, maybe I’ve done it badly,” she said, her lip quirking as if she were fighting the urge to smirk. “Maybe I’ve just come a visiting- in which case you owe me an ale and a place by the hearth.”

Leliana stared at her dumbly. “But I don’t have either of those things,” she said, bewildered.

“Elgar’nan’s blue balls, there are _darkspawn out there!_ ” Aradan all but clawed at the bars between them, his words hissed furiously. “Can we maybe leave the banter for another time when death is not looming over us all.”

“Ey, calm your temper, elvhen,” she said with a chuckle, her accent stressing the word so much so that Leliana almost mistook it for another Avvar word. It sounded almost like _ale vein_. “If the Mountain Father wants blood this night, there will be blood.”

“I’d rather it be darkspawn blood, thanks.”

Her grin was wolfish. “That’s hardly tasty though, ey?” Before Leliana could respond to such a macabre statement, Lasair was already moving. “Best get your boots, Lowlander,” she said, ducking through the doorway. A few moments later there came another crunching sound as the door to Aradan’s cell swung open as well. “There’s blood to be had.”

Leliana fumbled into her boots and stumbled from the cell, adjusting the strap of the quiver as she straightened. The thaig was coming to life slowly, lights shining from windows as figures began to appear in doorways, peering curiously out into the night. Shouts were echoing in the distance as a warning- as she stood there, an explosion sounded from the north and a klaxon bell began to ring violently somewhere in the settlement.

The effect was like poking an ant hill with a stick.

People were pouring from the buildings, torches and witchlights flickering wildly as the wielders sprinted in every direction. It was impossible to avoid being spotted, but luck was on their side- no one paid them any attention, just another three souls fleeing the encroaching death. From off to the right came a furious bellow, and Aradan’s head snapped in that direction. “Sam,” he shouted, ducking through the crowd and between a gap in the buildings. Leliana cursed under her breath and raced after him, Lasair hot on her heels.

She could hear the screaming now, and the hideous squawks and screeches that haunted her nightmares even with the distance of eleven years to comfort her. The inhuman cackles, the monstrous roars and hisses- the sounds of the darkspawn, just as brutal and terrifying now as they had been then. The noises echoed in the vast thaig, bouncing against the far walls and roof and ricocheting back at them, a vast cacophony of violence and gleeful evil. Leliana couldn’t see which direction they were coming from, and it honestly sounded like they were coming from everywhere.

She glanced upwards as they ran, spotting the stars that glimmered overhead in the gaps in the stone. Another clear and freezing night, rousing the poet in her- it always wanted to surface at the most inappropriate times. 

Aradan led them towards the northern end of the thaig, weaving in and out of the fleeing refugees. He rounded a corner sharply, and when Leliana followed she ran straight into the back of him. Staggering back a step, she went to snarl at him and then spotted what had stopped him in his tracks.

Before her was the source of the shouting, and clearly the person Aradan had been looking to find.

The warden was quite literally a giant- Leliana had seen Qunari smaller than the man slinging a two headed axe ruthlessly at the approaching creatures. He hewed through their ranks, the massive weapon sending the darkspawn flying, cutting through them like as if they offered no more resistance than wet paper.

He was flanked by two mages, one of whom Leliana recognised as the dark haired woman who had berated Bethany on their way into the settlement. She was slinging shards of ice and clouds of frost with incredible speed, spears of jagged ice stabbing upwards from the floor to impale the darkspawn as they crowded closer.

“Sam!” Aradan yelled again, going to rush forward to his aid.

“Get back!” Sam boomed, turning briefly towards them; his face was splattered with gore, and it was a frightening sight. “Go to Beth!”

“Like the Void I will!” Aradan snarled, a pair of knives in his hands. Leliana had no idea where he had gotten them from, and had to assume that Lasair had had the foresight to fetch them for him when she’d lifted the quiver and bow for her.

“The Captain did wrong by you, Dan,” Sam said, slamming the axe into the face of a hurlock who had gotten a wee bit too close. “That doesn’t mean she deserves to die. And if she falls, they get in from the south. I can’t watch both tunnels.”

“Go to Bethany,” the small mage snapped, slamming a wall of ice down on top of a group of genlocks armed with filthy crossbows. “We can hold this tunnel.”

“But-”

“Don’t argue, elvhen,” Lasair said, the word tripping up Leliana yet again. Lasair snared Aradan by the arm, dragging him back in the direction from which they had come. “If there’s beasties from the south, the children are in danger. Stop your pouting and do the right thing.”

Aradan cursed vilely at her in his native tongue, the words unfamiliar to Leliana but the meaning quite clear. She winced as she ran after them, following the curve of the main path around the pool as they sprinted towards the southern cavern entrance. It took them directly beneath the golem monument, and she couldn’t help but glance upwards at the morbid statue as they ran. So many names, so many led to a treacherous death. This thaig was nothing but a memorial to duplicity and deceit.

And now there would be more death, unless they hurried.

They came around the final curve, trying not to slip on the icy cobblestones on the steep incline of the bridge, and Leliana felt the hair on the back of her neck stand on end as a terrifying roar sounded to greet them.

Leliana staggered, horror bubbling up within her as she took in the scene before them.

Bethany, standing alone in the entrance to the south east tunnel, arms held wide above her head as arcane energies sparked and crackled between her hands- staring straight into the face of a charging ogre.

“Maker, _no_ ,” Leliana whispered, something within her cracking painfully.

The creature bellowed as it charged, the sound so ferocious that Leliana could see Bethany’s hair fly back from the force of it, and ran straight at her. Leliana’s heart lurched painfully into her throat, but Bethany did not even flinch.

 _The Champion has only one surviving family member,_ the report had said in the weeks after the tragedy at Kirkwall. _Her younger sister Bethany is sworn to the Grey Wardens, and may prove of use to us if Weisshaupt is in agreement. Her younger brother was killed by an ogre._

_Killed by an ogre._

Bethany did not even flinch, shoulders back as the wild magic sizzled and surged between her outspread hands.

An arrow whizzed past Leliana’s ear and went thudding into the ogre’s left shoulder, just as Bethany unleashed the torrent of energy at the beast. Leliana spun about to see Lasair already with another arrow on the string, her face set grimly as she let it fly.

“Damn it, Songbird, stop your gawking,” Lasair snarled, thundering past her as the ogre roared in furious pain. Aradan, likewise, went sprinting towards the battle, knives flashing wickedly as they reflected the glitter of Bethany’s magic.

Shaking herself, Leliana tugged her bow free and set an arrow to the string.

The ogre was enraged by the first few strikes, reaching up and batting away the arrows embedded in its flesh. The shafts snapped, the tips set too deeply in the muscle for the brute’s massive paws to remove with any sort of precision. It howled and lunged forward, forcing Aradan to dive out of the way and Bethany to throw up her arms, a shimmering wall appearing between her and the ogre. The beast slammed into it and staggered back a step, snarling and roaring in frustration.

The spell had clearly taken a toll on Bethany, who sagged instantly once the immediate danger was over; Leliana ran to her side to help her, but Bethany snarled at her, and shook her off.

“Don’t, Sister,” she snapped, but Leliana did not have the patience for her quicksilver moods.

She planted a rapid kiss on her lips, clearly startling her. “Apologies, Captain,” she said, just as caustically, before spinning on her heel to send a barrage of arrows towards the ogre again.

It was angry, harangued on all sides and not knowing who to attack next. It made a grab for Lasair, who danced laughingly out of reach, loosing an arrow directly into its left eye. Jerking backwards it roared in pain, thick and filthy brown blood oozing from the wound.

“Don’t touch the blood!” Bethany shouted, slamming her hands in the direction of the ogre, palms flat. The air between them flickered, and it howled, clawing at its head and jerking from side to side as if trying to shake off an invisible foe. She gestured again, and it sagged, forced onto its massive knuckles as it fought the considerable weight of the spell.

Lasair took a running leap, clawing her way up the ogre’s back and clinging for grim life to its horns as it roared and tried to shake her loose, still reeling from the effects of Bethany’s mind warping attacks. Aradan took advantage of the lapse in attention to rush in and slash at the muscles behind both of its knee. Bethany, having abandoned the illusionary attacks, peppered it with blasts of lightning to distract it, aiming for the eyes and grimly advancing on the beast as it howled and tried to shake off the blinding strikes. Leliana took her time to choose her mark, striking when the moment was right, hitting the ogre in the most vulnerable places.

The creature was wild with agony, howling and hissing and lashing out in motions that were growing exceedingly jerky and unbalanced. The roars in the confines of the tunnel were almost painfully loud, and Leliana winced and rolled out of the way as a spray of tainted blood and sputum splattered towards her as it screamed in fury.

When she came back to her feet, it was just in time to see Lasair grinning brutally as she rammed an arrow into the ogre’s neck, jerking the barbed head sideways to ensure the wound was mortal. As the ogre howled, it threw its head back, and Lasair lost her grip, tumbling to the ground with far too much grace given the circumstances.

Blood was gushing from the neck wound now, and the ogre was thrashing wildly, half blind; Bethany stepped within range of the wicked claws and set her hand on the massive corded muscles in the neck, her eyes cold and heartless. Before the beast could respond to her presence, a huge bolt of lightning splintered brutally through it, spearing through the neck and chest and fracturing out of its back in a spray of sizzling blood and burnt bone and tissue. The roar gurgled to a stop almost immediately, and the uninjured eye went glassy and dark.

As it toppled to the ground, Bethany stepped calmly out of the way, arms still raised aggressively in case it found some last burst of strength. But the Maker was with them, and though the force of the impact made the walls of the tunnel shake, the ogre did not rise again.

As the dust settled, Leliana hesitantly lowered her bow, panting desperately. Her heart was beating almost painfully in her chest, trying to claw its way into her throat, and the adrenalin made her head feel light and her skin feel thin. The blood was pounding furiously in her veins, hot and acidic and enough to leave her feeling ill.

Lasair regained her feet slowly, cautiously skirting the growing puddle of blood around the body, and Aradan and Bethany were quite liberally splattered in it. No one spoke, the enormity of the attack sinking in, fear and aggression taking a moment to settle and slink back into the darker corners of their hearts.

There were screams from the other side of the settlement, the sound horrifyingly familiar. The ogre lying dead at their feet was not alone, and between the high pitched shrieks and roars that announced the arrival of the smaller, quicker darkspawn, the rumbling bellow echoing around the cavern announced the arrival of at least one other ogre.

Bethany jerked back to the presence, her expression troubled. She grimaced and tried to smear away the gore on her face; she licked at her lips, her eyes wild as she glanced over her shoulder and then back at them. “Go,” she said, jerking her head in the direction of the cleared tunnel.

Leliana blinked. “What-”

“ _Go_ ,” Bethany urged, louder now. “No one will realise you got out for a few hours. No one will know how you got out. Go now, and you can escape.”

“But the other ogre-”

“ _I will kill it_ ,” she snapped, “just get out!”

“Bethany-”

“That was not a request! Go now, or they will keep you and kill you!”

Leliana looked to Lasair, who shrugged, and then to Aradan; his face was tight with anger and frustration, and he kept looking in the direction of the fighting and the screaming.

“Bethany,” he began grudgingly, but she cut him off as well.

“I’m sorry for everything that transpired here,” she said softly, quickly. “But I’m trying to save your life now. I’m trying to make amends. Please just go.”

Without waiting to see their decision, she turned and sprinted in the direction of the battle, holding her hands flat before her and summoning mana as she ran. That she had destroyed an ogre without the aid of a staff spoke leagues as to the extent of her talent, and the raw power concealed within her. In another place, in another time, she would have been a glorious role model to a new generation of mages, and could one day have made First Enchanter.

But Bethany had scorned that life, mocked it openly. Instead she was here, defending runaways in the mountains. This was the life she had chosen.

Leliana watched her go, and felt a tiny sliver cut into her heart, something small and sharp and painful that radiated out from her chest and made every part of her numb.

The soft and gentle girl from Lothering was gone. Sunshine was gone. She was as beautiful and cold as starlight now, as sharp and dangerous as polished diamond. Bethany Hawke had grown up, and the result was heartbreakingly deadly.

It was not meant to be.

Trying to ignore the agony in her heart, Leliana turned and ran down the tunnel, away from Cadash Thaig, away from the battle. Away from Bethany. The footsteps thundering along behind her told her that both Lasair and Aradan had followed obediently.

Freedom waited.


	15. Epilogue

**9:41 Early spring**

_Val Royeaux, Orlais  
Chantry Loyalists territory_

“This is quite an adventure you speak of, my dear,” Justinia said, leaning back slowly in her chair. “Winter storms and bandits and mountain savages- I am grateful that you survived at all.”

Leliana nodded her head demurely. “It was a close call, your Grace.”

“And what of the Avvar girl and the warden? What of them?”

“Lasair returned to her clan once we were safely to the surface, but she gave us the paths to make it safely into Orlais. Aradan and I travelled as far as Lydes together, and then we parted ways- to the best of my knowledge, he is on the road to Weisshaupt.”

“A grand adventure then,” Justinia said.

“Oh, absolutely,” Leliana said, choosing not to elaborate any further.

Justinia pursed her lips and surveyed her carefully, her expression unreadable as she watched her. “I cannot help but feel, my child, that there is something you are not telling me,” she said gently. “There is a sadness in your eyes that was not there when last we met.”

Leliana’s throat lurched into her throat for a moment. “I have not seen you in nearly eight months, your Grace,” she said neutrally. “A lot has happened in that time.”

“Indeed it has,” the Divine said with a sigh. “Some things have changed more than others. You, I think, have undergone great changes, my dear.”

“I assure you, your Grace, my heart and soul lie only with the Chantry; I am as dedicated as ever to serving your will.”

Justinia chuckled. “I do not doubt it, my dear child. You have been so faithful to me, all these years.”

“It has been an honour.”

“The honour is mine, my dear Leliana, to have such unwavering trust from a heart such as yours.”

Leliana smiled, but the compliment did not warm her the way it might have a year ago. “I will take my leave of you for now with sincerest apologies, your Grace. I am desperately in need of a bath, and a nap. With your blessing?”

“Of course, child,” Justinia said, smiling warmly. 

Leliana made it to the door without comment, but as her hand touched the handle, Justinia cleared her throat, and she hesitated.

“Love is never easy, Leliana,” the Divine said gently. “And sometimes it will never be more than a fleeting shadow. That does not make it hurt any less.”

Leliana felt her fingers tighten on the handle. “Was I that obvious?”

“You were always such a loving young woman,” Justinia said, “and you wear your heart on your sleeve far too often.”

She ducked her head, shame burning her cheeks. “I apologise, your Grace, I will not lapse in my duties again.”

“A lapse? Oh, my dear Leliana, love is never a lapse. Love is a gift from the Maker himself. Love is a light that we hold within us, to keep us warm and to light the way when all around us is dark. Whether it is the love of a parent or child, the love of a friend, or the touch of a lover- love is not ever something to apologise for.”

She felt tears pricking at her eyes. “It was such a small thing, I scarcely think I’m able to call it love,” she whispered.

“That is between you and your heart, dear one. I will not question you further on it. Now go- get some sleep, and we will discuss our plans once you have adequately rested.”

Stammering apologies, Leliana all but fell into the hallway as she hurried to escape from the room. As she rushed back towards her quarters, she attempted to wipe her tears away but without much success. 

Somewhere, in the snow and stone of the Frostback Mountains, a tiny piece of her heart lay with the woman of starlight. Whether she had lived or whether she had succumbed during the ogre attack, she did not know, and she did not dare to return to find out. She just had to trust in Bethany’s strength, and hope that one day she might be able to offer her another piece of her heart.

And for now, that would have to be good enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many, many thanks to everyone who helped to make this story a reality- platesfullofnothing, combination-nc, garret-spork for their beta services, epsifawnshawn for her beautiful artwork, cypheroftyr for her endless support and cheering, and cherith and minorearth for organising the Big Bang to begin with.
> 
> The title of the story was taken from a Robert Frost poem, _Looking for a Sunset Bird in Winter_ , and the little extracts at the start of each new section are snippets of the poem itself. 
> 
> The Avvar people I envision to be similar to Inuit, Yupik or Inupiat peoples, and the language spoken by Lasair reflects that. All the words spoken by her in a foreign tongue are taken from online dictionaries of north western dialects in the Alaskan area, provided by the Summer Institute of Linguistics, Alaska. For those curious, I can provide the links. For those with corrections or objections to my use of the language, please don't hesitate to contact me.


End file.
